In The Land of Gods and Monsters
by WinterIsComing01
Summary: A young woman struggles to find inner peace when she meets Tommy Conlon. She's strong on the outside, but can't come to grips with the events of her traumatic past that almost ended her life. He's on the road to emotional recovery himself. Can he help restore her spirit, especially when she must come face to face with those demons again? M for language, violence and lemonade.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from this film except my original characters.**

**Chapter 1**

The kid had been coming to the gym every night religiously for three months.

Every single night, usually around nine-thirty p.m., he would hurry into the gym, hurry to the bag, the one that was furthest away from the bustle of the gym, and get to work. He kept his head down, only focused on his task at hand, and when he was through, he wiped the bag down, pulled off his wraps, and was out the door.

He was a skinny kid, always drowning in his baggy clothes. He was short, a little pipsqueak at probably five-four, maybe five-five on a good day. Probably in his late teens, if Tommy Conlon was going to harbor a guess; he was small enough to suggest even younger, but there was a self-assured air about his movements that could only come with age. Fenroy said he remembered the kid from when he came to join, looked like a skinny baby-faced _ése_, he said.

He was definitely quiet; he never asked to work out or spar with Tommy like everyone else did. In fact, he never sparred with anyone. He came, worked out on the bags and the weights, and went home.

Some nights he showed up earlier, around seven, but usually it was later in the evening, after nine, and he always worked out for an hour and a half at least and left. Sometimes he was even still there when Tommy finished running the gym and actually locked up at night at eleven. Tommy just never had the heart to interrupt him; poor kid was probably getting picked on at school and came to the gym after he did his homework or chores or whatever it was that kids in school did at night. He never talked to the kid other than to wait for him to finish up and unlock the front door so the kid could leave. The kid never talked to him, never looked at him; just came and went.

No one – Tommy, Fenroy, or Leon, the new guy – was really sure what the kid's name was; they didn't keep strong tabs on the clients – they didn't have to. Even with the super-influx of new business thanks to Tommy's sudden and reluctant rise to fame, everyone pretty much knew each other or were quick to get to know each other. At least, all the guys spoke to each other on some level or another. This kid never talked to anyone and would shut down and back off if anyone tried to talk to him. Tommy had seen Fenroy try to start a conversation with him, to see if he'd wanted to get trained or spar or something. The kid had literally dropped his head and turned his back on Fenroy, walking away even as Fenroy had been talking.

At first, Tommy figured it really didn't matter if the kid wanted to talk or not, wanted to spar or not. He paid his $35 every month without fail. But then, he started hearing more and more about the skinny little weirdo in the corner with the bags who never spoke to anyone, and curiosity got the best of him. Going through all the records and applications of the guys in the gym, Tommy deduced the kid had to be Sammy Carnevale; it was the only name he didn't really recognize and couldn't immediately put a face with mentally.

Not that he'd have been able to do that – see the kid's face – anyway. The kid, Sammy, always came dressed in a hoodie in some shady of gray, black or blue with the sleeves cut off, over an oversized T-shirt with sleeves that billowed down to his skinny elbows, baggy sweatpants to match the hoodie, and Nike Jordans. The large hoods on the sweatshirts he wore were always pulled up and there was always the brim of a baseball hat sticking out from under the hood, pulled down low over his face. So low, Tommy didn't understand how he was able to do his bag work. He also wasn't able to understand how it was possible for the kid to work out in so many heavy layers; fifteen minutes into his own workouts and Tommy was in his gym shorts and nothing else.

But despite the kid's anti-social, completely withdrawn behavior, he was a silent, skinny little beast on the bags; he moved with accuracy, precision and was lightning fast. And Tommy didn't have to be on the receiving end of those punches to know they were brutal. For a skinny twig, the kid seemed to have some brute strength and skill. So much so, Tommy wondered if he couldn't be profitable in some way.

He had planned to ask the kid one night if he ever seriously contemplated real training and real competing for a real purse. But as he stood by the door, leaning against the frame languidly with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Sammy to finish up, the kid breezed past him, a pair of large white headphones over his hood, approximately where his ears were.

"Hey, kid," he called. "Carnevale!"

The kid just kept right on walking, heading in the general direction of the train station.

Tommy shook his head and locked up his gym before heading back to the office and packing up his stuff. _His_ gym. Tommy had to chuckle a little. Who'd have thought that angry Tommy Conlon, discharged ex-Marine, albeit honorably, MMA star and notorious for the emotional battle against his own brother at Sparta would be a business owner? And flourishing, to boot?

After the tournament, Colt had realized he was up to his eyeballs in gym applicants and that his dirty little hole in the wall filled with testosterone and sweat had turned into a gold mine overnight. Moreover, guys were climbing over themselves to get managed by Colt; after seeing what he'd done for Tommy, they all wanted a piece. Colt decided he wanted to pursue management fulltime, seeing the earning potential as absolutely insane. Currently, he was managing three or four up-and-coming MMA talents in the Pittsburgh tri-state area, and from the small and medium sized fights they were participating in, they were winning them all and Colt's cuts were getting bigger and bigger. He invested a lot of it back into the gym, purchasing a newer, bigger place to accommodate their rapidly growing clientele and offering late hours on the weekends and even opening on Sundays. The change in hours gave their three hundred twenty-seven clients the ability to space out when they came to work out, and Tommy was even booking appointments for private lessons and training sessions.

They were making money hand over fist and since Colt had decided to pursue management full-time, he decided to remain owner of the gym and keep the name "Colt's Gym" but had hired and elevated Tommy to both partner and general manager. Tommy made a good living off of it, and was still competing himself. Since his first fight after Sparta, he remained undefeated and was earning additional, good money from that. He had endorsement deals thrown at him from every direction but he always turned them down. Bren and Paddy, along with Colt and Fen and all the guys at the gym called him fucking nuts for doing it, but he wasn't into all that shit. He wasn't LeBron James or Dwayne Wade. He was just Tommy Conlon. Additionally, every week some reporter was calling him up for an interview. He didn't even know where half these asshole got his number, but it had gotten bad enough that he'd had to change his phone number twice. Interviews were simply out of the question.

As he glanced down at his phone, looking over his most recent endorsement deal offer in amazement, he wondered if maybe he might reconsider his position on that, though. He rubbed his chin, looking down at the offer from TapouT Clothing. Maybe he'd wait to make a decision definitively one way or another. At least until after he won his next big tournament.

He flicked off the lights and headed home for the night.

:O:O:O:

Tommy walked into his apartment, amazed still that he had one at all, and relished in the feeling of coming and arriving at home. He tossed down his gym bag and keys and inhaled a deep, clarifying breath through his nose.

His apartment was a study in stark minimalism. He often joked about how Paddy's house lacked a woman's touch (originally meant to be a stinging, sarcastic jab, but it evolved into a running joke somehow) but his was even worse. Tommy kept it as neat as possible, due mostly to his old habits leftover from the military that had come roaring to the forefront. He made his bed every morning, he folded his T-shirts exactly the way he had whenever he packed his rucksack, and he even scrubbed his counters and sinks with an old toothbrush. He supposed he could be worse; he could be a slob. But between his military training – Marine training, at that – and growing up with his mother, he knew that cleanliness and neatness were definitely next to Godliness and sanity.

His apartment lacked personal touches like pictures and decorations on the wall. He wasn't particularly sentimental although he kept a picture of his mother on the wooden side table next to his front door. He also kept a framed picture of himself and his best friend, Manny, from when they were deployed together in Iraq, taken a few months before the incident. In front of both photographs, he had placed a small glass votive candle which he lit on occasion. The only other real bits of decoration were a few scrawled crayon drawings in bright colors, per his nieces' artistry, depicting happy, smiling people holding hands, animals, rainbows and trees, attached to his refrigerator with a couple of magnets. All had "To Uncle Tommy" scrawled across the tops in big, childish handwriting and were signed either "Emily" or "Rosie" and were punctuated with hearts and stars.

He went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water, wrenching off the top and draining it before tossing the empty bottle into his recycling container as he studied their most recent efforts at artistic creation, smiling to himself. He shuffled down the hall to his bedroom, stripping off his shirt and yawning deeply as he went and dropped into bed, weariness settling deep into his bones as he lay back. Though his body begged for rest, his mind still whirled.

After the success of Sparta – and Tommy considered his loss a success – and things began to change with the gym and Colt, and _he_ started running the gym, the first thing he did was to move out of Paddy's house. He loved his father, and even was starting to like him a little bit, but at thirty, he needed his own place. Paddy's house was only meant to be a temporary holdover anyway until he got his shit together. He just happened to get his shit together sooner than he anticipated.

Moreover, the fact that he had escaped _serious_ punishment for going AWOL – meaning, indefinite imprisonment at Fort Leavenworth – still both amazed him and shamed him. He just couldn't live with himself as a decorated Marine after witnessing his brothers-in-arms and his best friend, Manny, getting gunned down in the friendly fire incident, and he'd left. _Friendly fire_, he mused. The term was so deceptively innocuous.

The JAG had taken the fact that he had saved the lives of several Marines trapped in a submerged tank into strong consideration. He had been ordered to several months of counseling but had still received an honorable discharge. Then, he had retreated to Paddy's house to lick his wounds for a little while before picking himself back up and resuming his life.

He almost hated to admit it, but the counseling he had been forced to receive had actually helped. So did having a purpose, a mission, a job in life and finally discovering his true passion for fighting. He knew he was good; he wasn't overconfident and he stayed grounded. He knew he could get knocked out or forced to tap out in every fight; he wasn't invincible and there was always a better fighter lurking around the next corner. He just hadn't come across that fighter or that corner yet. Nonetheless, he trained with that expectation.

His thoughts turned to his family. One of the things that had proved to be a huge surprise to Tommy was the relationship that he was cultivating with his new family. It had always just been him and Ma for so long; he'd known he'd had a brother and father of course, technically speaking, but he spent so many years being so angry with them both that it almost just didn't count to him.

Now, though...there was no more Ma. But he had a father, with whom his bond was silent and gradually growing stronger. And a big brother, with whom he was re-developing and re-establishing a friendship. He had a feisty, caring sister-in-law and two beautiful little nieces that had quickly taken possession of his heart with no signs of ever giving it back. And that was enough to make his head spin alone. He'd never known that he could actually experience good things like this given all the tragedy he had seen in his life, but here it was. He couldn't _not_ be cautious, and he still had some walls up; Rome wasn't built in a day, after all. But yet, in the past six months he felt like he'd come further than in his entire thirty years.

With another deep yawn and a quick prayer of deep thankfulness for the chance at a fresh start, he leaned over and flicked off the lamp on his nightstand, bathing room in relaxing blackness.

:O:O:O:

The next morning began like it always did – he woke up at five and went for a long run before coming back to his apartment to shower and eat a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, whole grain toast and black coffee. Then, he headed to the gym.

It wasn't a requirement that he be there from open to close, but rarely did he actually ever have anything else he needed to be doing. In those instances, he left Fenroy in charge but always returned. In addition to office duties – mountains and mountains of paperwork, payroll, processing new applications and the like – he inspected the equipment to make sure it was in top form, conducted private lessons, did his own training, made idle chitchat with the clientele, sparred and in general took care of whatever presented itself as an issue for the day. His days were long, but he chose his own hours and there was rarely anywhere else he wanted to be.

The day went relatively smoothly, although the impending issue with the air conditioning system that had been showing signs of disaster for several weeks finally impacted head on and the entire unit finally went out at three o'clock. Tommy instructed all of the employees to prop open doors and windows to get some air circulating and much to the benefit of the clientele, no one seemed particularly troubled by the recent turn of events. However, attempting to get someone to come out and fix a broken air conditioning unit in the late-afternoon on a Wednesday was harder than Tommy personally felt it needed to be. He ended up spending two more hours on the phone with an HVAC guy trying to set up a time, and despite the specialist commenting three times he had no appointments for the day, he told Tommy the soonest he could come out to take a "looksee" would be tomorrow morning around ten. Tommy gritted his teeth, struggling for patience, and accepted the appointment before slamming the phone down and leaning his chair back against the wall, shutting his eyes and swiping his hands down tiredly over his face. He sighed loudly.

"Tough day, boss?" Fenroy's teasing jab came as he sauntered through the office door, dropping a stack of mail on Tommy's desk.

"Sometimes this 'ownership/manager' thing is _mad_ overrated," Tommy muttered, righting his chair and reaching for the neat stack of mail, held together with a rubber band. They were mostly bills, as he had anticipated, but a large, glossy envelope caught his eye and despite the fact that it was addressed to "Colton Boyd" he tore it open, pulling out a sharply designed, thick piece of glossy cardstock. It was an announcement/invitation to yet another middleweight MMA tourney, and as Tommy's eyes scanned the flyer, it was shaping up to be Sparta part two, possibly even greater than that. In fact, it was being hosted by another huge MMA corporation, owned by none other than J.J. Riley's main competitor Bradley Wilcox, and it was called "Ithaca".

Tommy had to roll his eyes at the name. It was so obvious that Wilcox was simply trying to garner the same amount of attention, press and participation that Sparta had seen by using a similar name, but he really didn't need to do that. People loved MMA, period, and would come out to see some fights without all the flash.

His eyes dropped a little lower, taking in the details of the tournament. It was to be held in New York in two months. Fighters amateur and seasoned were encouraged to attend as it was going to be a winner-take-all scenario – if you felt you had the stuff, the mettle, then it might just be for you. At the bottom of the flyer he stopped, his eyes settling on probably the most important detail of the entire event.

_Two million dollar purse._

Tommy eyed it over and over, pursing his lips as his brows drew together in thought. From the money he'd made so far, starting over and rebuilding his life, he'd been able to send Pilar, Manny's widow, a little bit here and there and she'd always been grateful to the point of tears whenever she'd received it, unannounced, and would always call him to thank him fervently in English and Spanish. If he could win this – and he was confident he could – he could send her enough to set her and the kids up for a good, long time. For a moment he lost himself in a fantasy of college scholarships for both the kids – Manny had always said he'd wanted them to go to college – and trust funds. Pilar could move into a nicer home and take care of her mother like she'd always wanted to. And he…he could finally feel like he'd made good on his promise to his best friend, though he knew he'd never stop looking out for Pilar and the kids. He had promised Manny, and he always kept his promises.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair to slam a tack through the invite into the corkboard on the wall behind his desk.

_Always._

He pushed away from his desk and rolled his head around on his neck. He'd done the manager thing long enough for the day. Now, he was getting back into fighter mode. He wrapped his hands quickly and headed out of the office, flicking off the lights and shutting the door behind him. He waved off his sparring partner and headed for the bags in the corner, selecting his favorite one and setting to work.

After about fifteen minutes he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and saw a slim figure sidle up into the area of the bags. Carnevale was back, he noticed, and glanced at the clock on the wall. And he was right on time. He was in his usual gear of baggy sweat clothes, hat and hood pulled up over his head. He chose the most isolated bag, in the furthest corner of the area, and shifted slightly so his back was toward Tommy. He set to work on the bag, and Tommy could hear sharp exhales of breath on every strike as the kid commenced to pummeling the bag. He watched for a moment before returning to his own bag.

_Gotta remember to talk to that kid about competitions_, he thought, then began pounding away at his bag again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Sam!"

Bunz Williams' voice floated from the kitchen tucked away in the back of the café, breaking into Sammi Carnevale's reverie as she leaned against the wall by the espresso machine, staring out the window onto what was normally a busy Pittsburgh street.

The family-owned Italian bakery and café, Café Carnevale, was empty at the moment. The early evening was dreary, chilly, and rainy, sending would-be patrons scattering for cover from the torrential downpour of rain as thunder and lightning broke overhead. Some might call it a miserable day; to Sammi, it was heavenly.

"What up, doe?" she called back in their teasing vernacular. Bunz hailed from Detroit, and the slang phrase was used in greeting in the Motor City, dating back to before Sammi had even been born. Since then, it served as their standard greeting to each other and as general queries whenever something worth remarking upon occurred.

"I just…" Bunz's voice trailed off and for a moment Sammi could hear nothing but the clattering of utensils against the countertop. She cocked her head, listening. Bunz had a habit of starting a sentence, getting distracted, and completely forgetting about what it was she intended to say. It was one of her most annoying and also humorous qualities.

She'd met Bunz four months ago when she'd applied for the baker's job at the café, just a mere two months after the café had opened, which had been six more months after Sammi and her clan had relocated to Pittsburgh from New York. The baker was quirky, artsy, funny and by far the most unique individual that Sammi had ever met. She had a short cropped Afro, huge brown eyes and rich, chocolate brown skin that glinted with gold. She wore the funkiest clothing and the most outrageous jewelry and almost always had a smile on her face.

She'd never disclosed what made her leave Detroit for Pittsburgh other than her entrance into a master's art history program at the university; Sammi sensed that, like her, Bunz was haunted by some trauma from her past. At any rate, they never talked about either of their pasts, not more than was necessary, anyway, and Bunz refused to tell Sammi what her real name was.

"That chick is dead, gone, ceases to exist," she'd told Sammi one day shortly after coming to the café. "There's no reason for anyone to know that because it's irrelevant."

Never one to push, Sammi let it go. It didn't matter to her anyway. She knew the girl as Bunz, and Bunz she would be forever. And Bunz certainly lived up to her name; aside from her passion for art history, she was a fantastic, inspired baker, concocting a vast array of pastries that delighted and tempted their rapidly expanding clientele. At first, Sammi's father wasn't keen on having non-traditional baked goods in the cases next to the cannolis, the genoise, the amaretti cookies, the struffoli, the bigne, the biscotti, the tiramisu, the canestrelli. But Sammi's mother had convinced him to go out on a limb, take a little risk, and add a little extra to the display shelves. She had encouraged Bunz to add her various cupcakes, her mini-pies, her cheesecakes, bars and cookies to the mix as well. Mr. Carnevale had softened slightly when he saw the overwhelmingly positive response from the customers, and gradually, he had come to allow Bunz exclusive control over what went into the case, his only stipulation being that at least five traditional Italian pastries had to be front and center every day. Bunz was only too pleased to comply.

"B, you alive back there?" Sammi called over her shoulder, shoving the sleeves of her hooded sweatshirt up her forearms as she glanced at the black digital watch on her wrist, mentally running through the remainder of her Friday. They were closing at six, which always took at least an hour as they had a closing checklist to run through and the cash register drawer to count, and she still needed to get to the gym and work out before her shift at the bar started at eleven. The following morning, she had to be at the YMCA by eight for the ballet class she taught to middle-school aged girls, and then back to the bakery by ten, before her next shift at the bar. She sighed to herself. Balancing three jobs on opposite time spectrums didn't allow for much sleep _or_ much free time, but besides allowing her to make ends meet and save money, each shift brought her closer to her dream of opening her own dance studio.

It was her greatest passion, dance, and she never forgot how close she'd come to losing it, and everything, forever last year. The horrific experience she'd been through had cost her any kind of professional dance career, but it couldn't completely ebb the passion she had for the art form, not really, not ever. As she'd slowly put herself back together, little by little, that passion had been her foundation. She knew she would never be on another stage again, but she _could _teach and train other promising young dancers, full of life and hope and potential. She could, and did, help them develop their craft and pursue the dream that had been ripped away from her.

Another clattering noise met her ears, and this time Sammi pushed away from the counter. Her black motorcycle boots thumped loudly on the linoleum as she left the area behind the counter and trudged back toward the kitchen.

"B –" she started, then stopped short, biting her lip and struggling not to laugh.

Bunz was covered head to toe in white flour, her deep brown skin peeking out in uneven patches from the stark white coating. There was flour sprinkled in her short Afro and Sammi knew her friend would be deeply pissed when she saw herself.

"What seems to be the matter?" Sammi asked tightly, a laugh threatening to erupt from her throat.

"I would prefer not to talk about it," Bunz sighed. "I was just minding my own business –"

"Sure you were," Sammi interrupted, folding her arms over her chest.

"I was! I was just trying to find some bacon and then I tripped over my own two feet and upended a bag of flour. Sorry, not everyone has your dancer's grace."

"What do you need bacon for?" Sammi asked, glancing at the counter. There were three muffin tins, each holding a dozen freshly baked cupcakes, sitting on the surface. They smelled sweetly delicious, the rich scents of brown sugar and cinnamon wafting into Sammi's nose.

"For the cupcakes," Bunz replied, her tone indicating that it should have been totally obvious.

Sammi lifted an eyebrow, then shrugged, heading for the large freezer at the back of the kitchen.

"Rarely do I question your culinary genius, and I'm not about to start today."

She pulled a package of thickly cut bacon from the back of the refrigerator and handed it to her friend, who promptly took it from her and placed a large skillet on the stove. In no time, the smell of frying bacon filled the air and Sammi's stomach grumbled.

"Do you even know how to properly cook bacon?" she demanded. "Being that you're a vegetarian and all?"

Bunz gave her a withering stare. "Anthony isn't," she replied, referencing her live-in and decidedly carnivorous boyfriend. "Trust me, he's schooled me on the art of perfecting pan-fried bacon."

When the bacon was thoroughly cooked, she removed it from the skillet and began chopping it into one inch, roughly square-shaped pieces. Sammi watched as Bunz picked up a pastry bag and piped light brown buttercream onto one cupcake and then garnished it with an artfully applied piece of bacon. She presented Sammi with the cupcake as well as a wholly triumphant smile.

Sammi shrugged gamely, tugging down one side of the wrapper, and bit into the cupcake, making sure to get a little of everything in her monstrous bite. She immediately tasted the sweetness of the brown sugar and cinnamon of the cupcake, the salted caramel of the filling, and the rich, warm flavor of the maple in the buttercream. She was then immediately assailed with the crispness and saltiness of the bacon, and somehow, the flavors all melded together in perfect harmony and she chewed contentedly, her eyes falling shut for a moment.

When she reopened them, Bunz was grinning from ear to ear. "Well?" she demanded, although the impending feedback was quite obvious.

"Absolutely heavenly," Sammi managed thickly, pulling down another portion of the wrapper to line up another bite. "Perfection. I'll take three dozen."

Bunz laughed. "Sorry, the one is all you get for now. These are for tomorrow morning. For the _case_," she added pointedly, giving Sammi a stern look.

Sammi finished the delightful cupcake and held up her hands in a gesture of surrender that was completely Italian. "All right, all right," she conceded. "Now, how did you come up with these?"

"I was bored the other night, and decided to do some tinkering around," Bunz replied. "So I made these up, and as it turned out, I really am the shit at what I do."

"But you didn't have the bacon," Sammi said.

"Well…not exactly. I used the vegetarian kind."

Sammi stared. "You're joking," she said. "You used _'facon' _on this cupcake?"

"I'm sorry?" Bunz asked.

"Fake bacon! How dare you!"

"I mean, it was good," Bunz answered with a negligent shrug. "What was I supposed to do, eat the real thing?"

Sammi chuckled and shook her head. She looked at her watch again. "You finish up with these, I'll start cleaning in the front. It's ten to six; no one else is coming in today."

"In a hurry?" Bunz asked, slightly sarcastic. "Off to the gym to see your boyfriend? Oh, wait. My bad, I forgot. He has no idea you exist because you're always incognito."

"Hey," Sammi called over her shoulder, pointing a finger at Bunz. "Mind your own business."

"I hope you can knock off this secretive shit soon," Bunz said after her. "You not being able to wear nail polish is truly annoying."

"Pretty sure someone there might take issue with a guy who had lacquered nails," Sammi called sarcastically. "You should see this place, B. Nothing but testosterone."

"I can imagine," Bunz replied. "Which only serves my overall curiosity as to why you want to go there in the first place? I know we don't discuss the past but I know enough by now to know that what you went through involved a man. Why put yourself through that?"

Memories flooded her instantly, memories of terror and dark, fear and sweat, hands on her skin, pain radiating through her body. The broom she was holding clattered to the floor as anxiety threatened to overwhelm her.

Bunz heard the clatter and rushed in from the kitchen, her face instantly apologetic. "Here, sit down," she murmured, guiding her friend to a chair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." She watched as Sammi squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling deep breaths through her nose as her entire body tightened with stress. "Do you have your meds?"

Sammi gave her one terse nod, wrapping her arms around herself. "In my bag."

Bunz immediately went to the black leather messenger back hanging on the coatrack at the back of the café and rifled through it quickly, coming up with the amber medication bottle and popping the lid. She'd done this enough times to know exactly where in the bag Sammi kept her meds, exactly how many to give her, and how much water she needed to drink. It was automatic by now.

Bunz grabbed her a cup of water and brought it over, dropping two anti-anxiety pills into Sammi's outstretched palms. She folded her arms and bit the inside of her cheek as she watched Sammi take the meds. She was surprised when Sammi spoke again.

"To answer your question," Sammi began, and Bunz was glad to hear her voice was steady, if low. "I guess it's my own personal form of therapy. As long as no one pays me any mind, I can be around them and still do what I have to do. It helps me focus under pressure." She took another sip of water. "Besides, the guy that co-owns and manages it is an MMA star. Even if I don't spar with him or even talk to him, I can still watch and study his movements. So essentially, I'm still learning from the best."

"And it doesn't hurt he's got a gorgeous face and an amazing body, I'm sure," Bunz added dryly. Even if everyone wasn't an MMA fan, Tommy Conlon was a hometown celebrity for sure. Everyone knew what he looked like and how he'd risen to notoriety.

Sammi finally allowed herself a tiny smile. "No," she conceded. "That doesn't hurt at all."

:O:O:O:

Sammi hopped off the train around seven-fifteen that evening, making sure her long, dark chocolate brown hair was tucked tightly under her fitted Yankees cap before pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up. She wrapped her hands as she walked along the street toward the gym, her stomach tensing and knotting as it always did.

So far, as far as she could tell anyway, she'd managed to fly under the radar at Colt's. She'd definitely gotten a few looks here and there but she kept to herself and minded her own business. She knew _that_ in and of itself set her apart from the gym's clientele; they were obviously a family-oriented bunch and the guys all got to be friendly with each other. A couple had even approached her before but she'd just walked away before they could engage her in real conversation and discover her little secret. Not to mention, turning away was easier than dealing with it head-on. The only men she was comfortable around were her brothers and her father, her uncles. Family, essentially. Dealing with men on any other level was difficult for her, which was why she'd insisted on taking register/barista duties at the café as it would force her to re-engage with people, with men. And it was why she went to Colt's religiously almost every single night.

At the café, it was easier. It was a friendly, family atmosphere. It was relaxed, laid back – people just wanted their coffee and pastries and that was that. Many of the men that frequented the café were regulars, and she was mostly comfortable, if still a bit wary, with them. The gym was totally different. It was nothing but men, and she had no one to protect her but herself. It was an atmosphere of violence, although there was a sign in the window and the contract clearly stated that any and all fighting would take place _in _the ring, and that Colt's Gym would not tolerate any other violence of any sort, for any reason. But the testosterone was thick, so heavy she could practically smell it, and there was always a sense of danger there. These men were tough, hard, strong. These weren't prissy pencil-necks; they were here to train and be trained by the best, and they sparred intensely. She'd never seen the ring free of bloodstains before leaving for the night. There were always handfuls of guys walking around with lumped up, cut faces.

She'd had boxing training before. She'd done it recreationally before the incident and pursued it heavily afterward. She didn't want to compete, she didn't want to spar unless it was for training purposes. She wanted to learn how to defend herself effectively and not be afraid to fight. She'd had a personal trainer in New York, but when the family picked up and left for Pittsburgh, she'd had to say goodbye. Now, she knew she'd benefit from a trainer, but right now she was content to observe the best at work, mimic their movements, join together what she watched them do with her own training and develop herself.

And, as she peeked around the bag she'd been working on for the last hour, glancing from under the brim of her baseball hat, the best was currently at work in the ring.

Tommy Conlon was shaking out his hands at his sides in the ring, facing off against his sparring partner. She watched as his lifted his fists into a guard position, almost casually, and focus intensely on his opponent. She knew this wouldn't be anything like Sparta – he wouldn't be handing out any "one-hitter quitters" tonight. He was in it for the duel, the enjoyment. The dance.

She tilted her head and watched his feet. He moved with incredibly quick, confident movements. He landed a kick, leaping past his doubled-over opponent, then with a quick shuffle of his feet switched his direction, casually yanking up a pant leg as he resumed his guard position. She shook her head to herself. The guy was a beast, but there was something so lithe, so sure, almost _graceful _about his movements that made him so interesting to watch.

He was grinning at his partner, who hand just landed a jab to the chin. It was clear he was enjoying the moment. Sammi had watched him at Sparta and she recalled how he'd always looked so grim, the hatred practically radiating off him as he would charge his opponents, take them down, then burst out of the ring and stalk out of the arena in rage. Now, it was like night and day; he was smiling, laughing a little, and his handsome face looked peaceful and calm.

She'd never really looked him in the face before, not in person although the opportunity presented itself every single time she left the gym after closing. He would always be standing by the door, toothpick in his mouth, hands in his pockets, waiting patiently for her to finish up. She would always keep her head down and brush right past him. Once, when she'd been wearing her headphones, she thought she'd heard him yell out her name, but she hadn't been about to blow her own cover by stopping to reply, and instead, had ignored him, rushing past. But the curiosity at what _he,_ Tommy Conlon, would have to say to _her, _a nobody, always picked at her. Did he know her secret? Was he annoyed she stayed past closing, keeping him there too? Had she missed some hidden fee? He hadn't tried to speak to her again, and that occurrence had taken place a couple weeks ago. She studied his face, taking in the symmetry of his face, his unbelievably full lips, his steely blue eyes. She knew from seeing him on TV that he was a very good-looking guy, but now, seeing him in person although not up close, she could tell that the camera hadn't done him any justice. Her eyes slipped lower and for a moment, she indulged herself by taking in his heavily muscled torso, shoulders and arms, littered in a variety of black tattoos. She studied the ridges of his abdomen, his well-developed pectoral muscles, his thick lats, his strong, defined arms. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he could sweep the floor of the gym with every guy in it.

"Give it up, kid," a voice said behind her, accompanied by two other voices snickering. "You'll never be that good, and he would never waste his time even _trying_ to make you halfway decent."

Sammi resisted the instinctive urge to jerk her head over her shoulder in the direction of the voice. Instead, she glanced to the side slightly, mostly catching the side of her hood. Whoever had spoken must have seen her slight movement, because he continued on.

"I see you in here all the time at these bags, never talkin' to nobody, actin' like you're better than everyone, when really you're just a skinny little prick who's just wastin' his time."

There was a pause. Sammi wasn't about to say anything; she listened, her body tensing as her heart rate accelerated and her stomach clenched with fear and anxiety.

_Too close,_ she thought frantically, her fists balling involuntarily. _He's too close_.

She heard the sound of one rubber-soled shoe impacting against the ground, closer to her direction, and that was all it took. She darted forward around the punching bag and ran straight past the ring, remembering at least to keep her head down as her heart slammed into her throat. She heard a few murmurs of surprise from those gathered around the ring to watch Tommy and his opponent but paid them no mind.

"Hey," a voice called behind her, and she knew it was his. Tommy's. "Hey, Carnevale! Hey, kid!"

For the second time in as many weeks, she ignored him and flew out the front doors of the gym, running as fast as she could, not stopping until she was seated safely on the subway train back home, clutching herself to prevent the tremors of anxiety from taking her over the edge into a full blow seizure of fear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Dude, I don't _know_," Fenroy insisted. He sat across from Tommy in the office at the gym, and Tommy was going over some bookkeeping. It was late at night, he was tired, he was at the end of his patience, and the numbers weren't adding up.

"Well, there's at least twelve people who didn't pay by the fifth, and today's the twenty-eighth," Tommy said, bringing his fingers up to his temples. He recalled the good old days where he could just pummel the shit out of a bag or some poor fuck's face in the ring and not have to worry about shit like this. Then he remembered what his paychecks looked like these days and gritted his teeth. "We're getting ready to bill again for next month and they haven't paid. Didn't you mark off who paid and who didn't on the list?"

Fen slowly shook his head. "I just collected," he replied.

"We gotta find a better way to do this," Tommy muttered, more to himself as he looked through the pile of documents on his desk. He sighed and chewed at his toothpick as he frowned absently toward the eagle, globe and anchor paperweight on his desk, his eyes lighting across the "Semper Fi" scrawled on the base of the weight. Currently, there were three hundred twenty-seven people at the gym; the flat rate for a monthly membership was $35. Private lessons and training were an extra fee on top of that, but payment for those services was expected to be rendered at the time the service was performed. Based on his calculations, he was $420 short for monthly membership fees. A drop in the bucket compared to what they had in the bank, but money was money and every little bit helped.

"So what do you want me to do?" Fenroy continued.

Tommy was about to reply when sudden loud shouting pierced the air from the gym; his head snapped toward the door. _Shit._ He was used to fights breaking out in the gym despite the sign on the door and the wording in the contracts; with all that testosterone flying around, all the guys thinking they were bigger, badder and tougher than the next, it tended to happen. It reminded him of his days as a Marine. Between basic, random orders and deployments, it was the same thing – all that testosterone in the air caught up to the guys and exploded; Tommy had been involved in a few brawls in those environments himself. Nowadays, Tommy was almost always the one to break them up, and it was always a pain in the ass. But rules were rules, and he was the "boss" as it were, so it was up to him to keep order in the facility and maintain an aura of peace and calm. If they wanted to take it _in _the ring, that was fine by him. Anything else, and that shit had to stop.

"_You_ figure it out," Tommy replied, pushing away from the desk. "And I expect you to come up with a better tracking system. You can't just take cash, man, it doesn't work like that." Another shout echoed in the gym.

"Better go handle that," Fenroy said, stacking some papers together.

Tommy stopped in his tracks and stared at him incredulously. "_You_ better handle _that!_" he snapped, stabbing his toothpick in Fen's direction before shoving it back between his teeth, using his tongue to shuffle it around to the other side of his mouth as he headed out of the office into the gym.

The blowing fans and the recently fixed air conditioning immediately raised goosebumps on his bare arms. He only wore a black TapouT T-shirt with the sleeves cut off and baggy gray sweats, the laces of his shoes untied as he shuffled out toward the small cluster of bodies near the punching bags. He couldn't see what was going on; it didn't look like anyone was throwing any punches, at least not yet. He didn't want to get involved unless physical violence actually occurred. When it came to words, they were all grown men; let them handle their own hurt feelings. He had a zero-tolerance attitude when it came to violence towards each other outside the ring; he hated bullies.

The group of guys had their backs to him, so he leaned inconspicuously against a corner post of the ring in the middle of the room, flipping his baseball cap around so it sat loosely on his head with the brim flipped to the back. He folded his arms over his chest and tucked his hands under his biceps as he cocked his head, trying to listen to what they were saying. From what he could tell, it was Mikey, Charlie and Jimmy. He couldn't remember their last names but each of them had sparred with him at least once, sometimes twice.

"You always walk around in here like you got a little fuckin' attitude problem or something!" Jimmy was yelling, his voice heavily East Coast.

"Yeah, you think you're better than us or somethin'?" Charlie shouted.

"Charlie, chill," Mikey laughed. His accent was distinctly Bostonian. "He probably has this attitude walkin' around here 'cause all his body mass is in his dick and it's bigger than yours."

"Shut the fuck up, Mikey," Jimmy shot back, before turning back to the object of his wrath, which was concealed from Tommy's view by his and his pals' huge, overdeveloped forms. "Listen, you little fuck, this is a family atmosphere in here and we're all supposed to get along. You're throwin' all kinds of negative vibes and shit around in the air and stirrin' things up. And I personally don't like the way you fuckin' think you're too good to speak to anyone in here!" His hand flew out in a push, and Tommy straightened up when he heard a little answering grunt.

"He's too good to talk to you now, Mike," Charlie laughed.

Tommy instantly knew who was on the receiving end of the abuse. That poor kid, that Carnevale. He knew this was at least the second time he'd gotten picked on, probably by these same three assholes. He remembered a few weeks ago seeing the kid actually _flee_ from the gym. Tommy had tried calling out after him, but Carnevale just kept running. He hated to see it and hated even more he hadn't been able to do anything about it, having not seen who it was that had harassed him in the first place. And he'd tried to approach Carnevale a couple different times since it had happened, only to have the kid turn his back and quickly walk away. Now, though, was his chance to redeem himself and make sure these fuckers left the little kid alone.

He took one step toward the group when he suddenly saw a small hard fist fly out, knocking Mikey right in the face. Mikey's head snapped back sharply as he shouted in pain. Tommy was amazed at the sight of blood gushing from his nose. The kid's head was down, chin tucked, his fists up next to his face in a tight guard. His eyes were shielded by the brim of his Yankees cap. He was tense, probably waiting to see who would make the next move.

"Now, that wasn't very fuckin' nice!" Jimmy bellowed, stepping closer. Tommy broke into a shagging run, but it wasn't quite fast enough. He heard a ripping sound pierce the air and came to an abrupt stop. For a moment, he stared, unsure exactly what to make of what he was seeing.

Jimmy had grabbed the front of the kid's shirt, no doubt intending to haul him in close to deck him, and the kid had immediately pulled – _jerked – _away. The exertion of two hard forces in opposite directions took their toll on the only thing connecting them – the kid's T-shirt. With a rip, it tore right down the middle, and Tommy's confused mind swirled as everyone, including the kid, froze.

Under the tatters of a torn T-shirt, Tommy saw a flash of smooth, soft-looking, naturally tanned skin, the abdomen flat and softly muscled, not hard with ridges like a man's. Like a woman's. His eyes rose to just above the exposed stomach, seeing layers of tightly wrapped duct tape over what appeared to be a black sports bra.

Charlie reached out and slapped the brim of the hat from the bottom, pushing it off the kid's head as his hood fell off. The hat fell to the floor as a long, dark brown ponytail fell past the kid's shoulders. Tommy's mouth fell open. What he had perceived to be a skinny teenage boy was actually a slender young woman. One who had an athletic body, but who was rather curvy too; he could see that even with the duct tape. Her T-shirt was torn open past her hip, and he could see where her waist narrowed above her low-slung sweatpants before softly curving out in a shape that was uniquely, utterly feminine.

"It's a bitch!" Charlie shouted. "A fuckin' girl! What the fuck!"

"Damn, she looks good, though," Jimmy snickered.

Her shocked, warm brown eyes met Tommy's for just a moment before she tried to whirl around to flee. Mikey's hand, bloody from holding his nose, shot out and gripped her upper arm. An upper arm that Tommy had previously written off as the skinny limb of a boy, but that he could now see was the softly curving arm of a woman, light with defined triceps and biceps. Her eyes flashed like a caged animal and she jerked uselessly in Mikey's iron grip as Tommy snapped out of it.

"Now, now," Mikey was hissing at her. "That's not very fuckin' nice o' you! Snuff me then leave? I don't think so, Princess…not now. Damn, you do look fuckin' good! Charlie wasn't lyin'…"

He jumped almost a foot in the air when Tommy's hand slammed heavily down on his shoulder.

"Let her go," he said through gritted teeth.

"Tommy, man, it's a fuckin' chick sneakin' around here!" Mikey said, as though by way of explanation.

"I don't give a fucking rat's ass," Tommy hissed back, tightening his fingers around Mikey's shoulder. "I said, _let her fucking go!_"

Mikey released his hold on the girl and she stumbled back, her eyes still wide with fear.

"All three of you pricks, get your shit and leave!" Tommy bellowed, shoving Mikey away once the girl was free.

"Aw, come on, man," Jimmy said. "We weren't gonna do nothin' to her – "

"Bullshit," Tommy growled. "I don't give a fuck if you were gonna take her dancing. Get the fuck out and don't let me see you back at this gym again!"

"You gonna kick us out over a _bitch_?" Mikey said incredulously. "Did you know about this or somethin'?"

Tommy took two steps before he was nose to nose with Mikey. The other man cowered slightly and winced, feeling the anger and violence radiating off Tommy.

"If I gotta tell you fucks to get out of my gym one more time, I'm not gonna be askin' so politely next time," he said in a low voice, his blue eyes, dark with menace, boring into Mikey's. "Now – get the _fuck _out of my goddamn gym!"

Thankfully, they didn't need to be told again. They grabbed their shit and all but ran out of Colt's, without one backward look to either Tommy or to the girl, who had sunk to the floor and was staring after them, her brown eyes still huge with fear and shock.

Tommy shifted his weight awkwardly as he glanced at her. After a moment, he took a hesitant step in her direction.

"Miss, you okay?" he murmured quietly, not wanting to further freak her out. She continued to stare past him as though he hadn't spoken to her. "Miss?"

Finally her eyes shifted to him, but even as they locked gazes, he could tell she was still staring right through him, her eyes wide and glassy. He took in the features of her face. She could be any conceivable age between twenty-one and thirty; her face was unlined and soft, youthful-looking, but her eyes held a pool of knowing, of experience, of life events she'd seen that no one should. Her skin was smooth, creamy, olive, with high, rounded cheekbones and a sensual mouth, pouty with pillow-like pink lips. Dark, silky brows arched away from her large, almond-shaped eyes. She would have been beautiful, Tommy noted, if she didn't have a look of such intense fear on her face.

He slowly crouched down until he was eye-level with her. Her eyes began to sharpen, coming into focus on him as she blinked rapidly, long, thick dark eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks like the beating of butterfly wings.

"Miss?" he tried again in the same quiet tone. He extended a hand toward her.

Her eyes lit on his hand, and widened. She sucked in a breath and recoiled from him violently.

"Don't touch me!" she said hoarsely, and Tommy quickly backed up, lifting his hands in the air.

"Okay, okay," he said, calm and quiet. "Sorry. You're all right."

He backed up several more paces and kept his hands in the air as she scrambled to her feet, gasping, clutching her tattered T-shirt to her body as she fumbled to zip up her sweatshirt. She turned to grab her hat from the floor, and he caught a flash of her eyes, filling with tears as she bit her lip, her face crumpling. Her expression made his heart wrench, made him feel like shit. It was common knowledge that women didn't come here, but there was no rule against it, certainly; in fact, he'd hoped that _everyone _would come to the gym, men and women alike, and learn something. He was big into women learning how to defend themselves and had even discussed with Colt the possibility of hosting a women's self-defense course.

Now, the only woman that had ever come to the gym, had not only felt it necessary to disguise herself, but had ended up getting assaulted anyway. He felt like a total asshole, even though he'd tried to intervene on her behalf. Why would she ever want to come back now? Why would any woman want to come here? And, for fuck's sake, now he might have to deal with the cops should this woman decide to complain. He _definitely _didn't need those problems.

She moved past him in a flash, even as he turned after her. "Hey," he called. "I'm really sorry about that. Let me help you out – can I call someone for you?"

"You can go to hell!" she threw over her shoulder before she shoved through the doors and hurried into the night.

"What the hell was that?" Fenroy asked, slightly out of breath from running out of the office. "_Who _the hell was that?"

"That was the kid, the skinny kid, Carnevale," Tommy said. "Except he's really a she, and _she _just got assaulted on our property by Mikey, Jimmy and Charlie."

"What?" Fen demanded. "Where are they now?"

"Kicked 'em the fuck out," Tommy replied. "You think I'd keep 'em around?"

"What about her?" Fen said, jerking his chin in the direction that the woman had gone. "What if she tells the cops or something?"

"Thought about that," Tommy replied. "I'm more concerned with the fact that she's too scared to ever come back here now. I feel like fuckin' shit, man. This shit should never have happened, not on my watch. That ain't the kind of place I want to run."

"Think her name's really Sammy Carnevale?" Fen asked.

"Shit, who knows?" Tommy said. "She felt the need to dress up like a dude; she probably would have used a fake name."

"Carnevale," Fen repeated aloud, muttering it again to himself. "Carnevale."

"What?" Tommy demanded.

"Nah, it just sounds familiar for some reason," Fen mused, rubbing his chin. He snapped his fingers. "That's it. Café Carneval, over on Liberty Avenue. Italian family place, it's like a coffee shop and a bakery. My girl took me there one day."

"Think it's her place?" Tommy asked doubtfully.

"Maybe her family's or somethin'. Not that I know how many Carnevales are in Pittsburgh."

"Hmm," Tommy said, folding his arms. "Who knows." He shook his head. "Poor kid."

:O:O:O:

Carnevale, Sammy, whoever she was, didn't show up the next day. Or the day after that, or the day after that. It bothered Tommy more than he could stand. One reason was because he didn't like the idea of _anyone _getting assaulted at his gym – he hated bullies, and it just churned his guts to know that it had happened under his watch.

Another reason was because he couldn't get over the absolute fear in her eyes. It was evident in every line of her. Nobody deserved to be scared like that, especially not a woman. Especially not her, when she'd never done anything to anyone at the gym, had just minded her own business. It pissed him off every time he thought about it and he wished he didn't have the self-restraint and control he did now; he would have loved to have been able to rearrange those three assholes' fucking faces.

A whole week had passed since the incident. Apparently, she hadn't decided to call the police. No one came knocking, and no one was talking about it. That was because the only other person who'd been around was Fen, and Tommy had given him strict orders not to speak of it to anyone. Every day, he hoped to see her, to know that she felt safe in coming back to the gym, but apparently she was done with it. He knew he should have cut his losses, hoped to do better next time, but he just couldn't let it go.

He let another week pass. One day, when he determined that Carnevale was never coming back, he did something completely out of character. He hopped on the internet and looked up Café Carnevale, noting its address, and told Fen to hold the fort down for a little bit while he left to run an errand.

:O:O:O:

Sammi was in the kitchen, making more whipped cream for the small refrigerators under the espresso machines. She was making two batches – one batch of vanilla and one batch of caramel. They would go into the air-pressured canisters to be piped on hot lattes and other espresso beverages.

The afternoon had been a little slow, so she had come back to join Bunz in the kitchen as her friend was whipping up a batch of chocolate chip cannolis. Bunz seemed to be able to sense her friend's moodiness and need for quiet, as it had been for the past couple of weeks. Sammi had informed Bunz of what happened at the gym, announcing that her friend had been right all along and she was done.

Suddenly, they heard the bell over the door tinkle. Bunz glanced at Sammi, who had her hands full of half and half and whole milk. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and waved Sammi off.

"I got it," she said, walking through the door.

Sammi shrugged and carefully poured the liquid and the flavoring into a canister, screwed on the cap, then the little canister of pressurized air that would give it the whipped, airy consistency. She flipped the canister upside down and leaned one hand on the counter, shaking it vigorously as she absently stared off into space.

She glanced up when Bunz re-entered the kitchen, biting at her lower lip, looking as though she wanted to smile, but didn't.

"What?" Sammi asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Bunz cleared her throat and went back to mixing her cannoli filling. "Just a customer out there. Asking for you. Wants a latte."

"Oh," Sammi muttered. She quickly unscrewed the mini air canister and picking up the other full canister of the caramel whipped cream, she headed out into the café, slipping behind the counter. She leaned over to put the canisters in the fridge.

"What'll you have?" she called.

"Latte, please," a deep male voice replied, low and rich.

The voice made her freeze for a second, its familiarity clutching at her. Slowly, she straightened up, and found herself looking into a pair of earnest blue eyes. She swallowed.

Tommy Conlon was sitting at her counter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tommy couldn't remember the last time he'd been in Little Italy. It was one of those neighborhoods he knew existed, but rarely had a reason to venture to. Actually, _never _had a reason to venture to was more like it.

He couldn't help appreciating the overall ambiance of the mostly-friendly family neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Restaurants, shops and stores boasted signs all in Italian. The streets were filled with locals going about their daily activities. He was Irish, and his pale skin and light eyes made him feel like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt he wore under his leather jacket over his head and trudged down the street until he saw the inconspicuous storefront of Café Carnevale. He pushed through the door, the little bell over his head tinkling gently, marking his entry.

The first thing he noticed was that the café was totally empty. The second thing he noticed was that it was filled with a sweet, delicate scent that boasted of delicious pastries, mingling with the rich, heavier scent of roasted espresso. They were pleasant scents, to be sure, and he couldn't help taking a deep breath.

The café was small, but cozy, with wooden tables and chairs dotted around the room. To his left was a long, exquisite mahogany bar with stools. Behind the bar was a long counter with espresso machines and a wide variety of syrups and flavors for coffee beverages, canisters of coffee and espresso, blenders, and the like. As he headed toward the bar, he glanced at the wall, seeing several framed pictures to his right. The one at the top was of a middle-aged, smiling, dark-haired couple. The frame was engraved with "Mama and Papa Carnevale, Owners". The one just below was of the exact person he'd come to see; a pretty brunette with olive skin and dark eyes smiled shyly into the camera. The engraving below was "Sammi Carnevale, General Manager". Below that, a picture of a funky African-American girl with short hair, red-framed glasses and big earrings, who was grinning slyly, bore the inscription "Bunz Williams, Pastry Artist Extraordinaire".

_Sammi_, he mused silently, moving to the bar and pulling out a stool. At least she'd used her real name, if the spelling had been adjusted slightly to appear more masculine.

A young woman came out from what he presumed to be the kitchen and stepped behind the bar. Her eyes lit on his face and he saw recognition bloom in them, although her face gave away nothing. He knew he was looking at none other than Bunz.

"Hey," he said in a low voice, nodding slightly in greeting.

She gave him a polite smile in return. "Hey," she said. "What can I help you with?"

He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable and suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing there.

"Uh, Sammi around?"

Bunz's full lips pulled into a smirk and she nodded. "She sure is. Do you want a drink or something?"

"Uh, sure," Tommy said hesitantly.

Bunz turned and headed for the back. He heard her voice speaking quietly but couldn't make out the words. A moment later, a small figure came out of the doorway, holding several canisters in her arms. She didn't even glance his way as she bent down, disappearing behind the counter. He heard the sound of what he assumed was a storage door or maybe a refrigerator door being opened and the sound of metal against metal.

"What'll you have?" she called from below.

He glanced up at the beverage menu chalked on the board behind the bar. "Latte," he replied. _Latte? _he thought, annoyed with himself. _Since when do you drink _lattes_?_

There was a long pause, and he sat quietly as he watched a hand appear to grip the edge of the counter. A small hand, the neat, short nails not extending past the fingertips and professionally lacquered a deep, shiny shade of dark plum. A moment later, a tousled dark head appeared, followed by a pair of large, warm brown eyes, narrowed in suspicion. He stared back at her impassively, studying her face. She definitely looked better than the last time he'd seen her; that deep-rooted, panic-laced fear gone from her eyes. That they were now replaced with skepticism and suspicion wasn't much better, but then again he'd take that over the primal terror that had been in them before. Her shiny, dark espresso-colored hair was piled loosely on top of her head in a knot, and she wore a hint of makeup, her eyes smudged slightly with dark liner that made them appear even larger and more expressive. He remembered how her face was softly rounded, not an angular feature in sight – a pert, small and slightly up-turned nose, high, rounded cheekbones, and impossibly full, soft-looking pale pink lips that were currently pursed as she appraised him. Her face was a soft heart-shape, and as her mouth stretched slightly into a tight line, two dimples magically sprang deeply into her cheeks.

She spoke before he could. "What are you doing here?" she said quietly. Her voice was pleasantly raspy, low in tone but high and utterly feminine in pitch.

"Came to get a latte," he replied lightly, wanting to see if she'd bite. She didn't.

"You came an awful long way for a latte," she replied, folding her arms over the front of her fitted, V-neck black top. Her sleeves were shoved back to the elbows and she wore a black sports watch on one wrist, and several silver bracelets on the other. Several delicate, silver chains of varying length hung from her neck, the shortest one pooling around her collarbones while the longest almost reached her belly button. She wore a pair of simple, round silver studs in her ears. "Especially given the fact that there's, like, seven coffee shops within a three-block radius of your gym."

He sighed. "I came to apologize to you," he said finally, watching as one of her silky brows arched in skepticism. "For what happened a few weeks ago."

She met his gaze for a beat before averting her eyes and giving him her back as she turned toward one of the espresso machines. He noticed the large flower tattoo on the back of her neck, done in simple black ink with no shading. His eyes slid lower and he swallowed as he took in her shape. She was small-boned and slender, but she had curves in all the right, womanly places and he had a moment to marvel at the fact that she had managed to conceal her sex as long as she had. There was nothing remotely boyish about her curvy, athletic shape, set off to perfection in a pair of tight jeans.

"Water under the bridge," she replied tersely. "What size you want? Medium?"

"Sure," he answered. "It's not water under the bridge to me. That type of shit ain't acceptable, not in my establishment, and I don't take kindly to shit like that."

She had been measuring out ground espresso for his drink, but stopped. Her shoulders slumped slightly and she turned to glance at him.

"Why does it matter so much to you, anyway?" she asked. "I didn't call the cops, didn't try to press charges. It is what it is. The world is full of assholes."

"You're right," he conceded. "But at the end of the day, I guess you could say it's just my moral principles. I hate bullies and I hate seeing violence against women. It just ain't all right with me, and if nothing else, _someone _owes you an apology. It's my place, so, here I am. Saying I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," she replied, her back still to him as she began tamping espresso. "You can't control everyone. Skim or two-percent?"

"Skim, please," he replied, and fell quiet. If she wasn't interested in his apology, he was just going to put it on the table and leave it alone.

Several minutes passed in silence as she steamed his milk and let the espresso drip into his cup. When the milk was hot, she poured it carefully into his cup and let it mix with the espresso, stirring it gently. She placed a lid on the cup and slid it into a sleeve, and turned and placed it on the bar in front of him. She didn't look up at him.

"Two-fifty," she said softly.

He handed her a five. "Keep it," he added, referring to the change. She nodded once in acknowledgment and thanks, still not meeting his eyes.

He turned to leave, then turned back. She finally raised her eyes to meet his, lifting her brows in question.

"If you ever want to come back," he started softly, "just know you're always welcome. And I'll personally guarantee that nobody fucks wit' you."

She breathed out a quick laugh, one corner of mouth pulling upward fast into smile before smoothing out. He didn't quite know what the meant and decided that now, for real, he'd let it be.

"Thanks," he said, lifting his cup. He caught sight of her flicking her head upward in acknowledgment before he turned to push out of the café. He cursed himself for his idiotic idea as he headed back toward the subway. What the hell had he been thinking? Sure, he felt like shit over what had happened to her. But who else besides him, and maybe Bren, would ever really understand why?

He winced inwardly as unwelcomed images flooded his brain; there was Ma, lying on the floor in the living room, sobbing as Paddy gripped one of her hands in his, wrenching her arm back around her. He heard his drunken father's open palm slap against the tender skin of his beloved mother's face; the sickening crunch of ribs giving way under the steel-toe of a work boot. He heard her pleas for him to stop, to please stop, that he was hurting her so much. He shook his head quickly, and the memories dispelled. His father was a different guy now, but unfortunately, Paddy the Drunk or Paddy the Wife-Beater were the two things that immediately came to mind whenever Tommy thought of his father – not Paddy the Best Grandpa or Paddy the Supportive Sober Father, as he was now.

Moreover, _he _was bullied as kid. In school, he had always been the short, scrawny kid in class, and the bigger boys would never fail to gang up on him at least three times a week to make his life hell. In fact, it was the driving force behind his decision to start wrestling – not only did he like the team atmosphere, but he enjoyed learning moves that he could apply in real life situations. Even now at the age of thirty, he couldn't help warming at the memory of the first time he'd fought back. He'd flipped the main bully over his shoulder and had placed him in a chokehold so fast the kid hadn't even realized what was going on until he realized he'd stopped breathing.

These were the reasons why his gut had clenched when he'd seen Sammi sprawled on the floor, looking like she'd just been shot. They were why he'd felt helpless after kicking the Three Assholes out of his gym, why he'd offered to call someone for her, do _something _to help her – no one had helped him out when he was a kid. No one had tried to help ease his suffering. He'd be damned if he didn't do the same thing for someone else.

But, unfortunately, it seemed Sammi was through with Colt's Gym and everyone involved. He was disappointed, but at the very least, he'd given it a shot. Nevermind that he felt incredibly stupid for it now.

He hopped the train and headed back to his comfort zone – the gym.

:O:O:O:

Sammi was grumbling irritably to herself, washing the utensils she'd used to make Tommy Conlon's fucking latte, when she felt something swat her rear. She whirled, eyes wide, and saw Bunz shaking her head, twirling a dish towel around in her hands.

"You slapped my ass!" Sammi exclaimed needlessly. "What the hell?"

"Can you stop mumbling angrily to yourself over there?" Bunz asked. "You sound like a crazy person."

Sammi shot her friend a withering stare and returned to her task. "Gee, sorry to disturb you." She was a little embarrassed, having not realized she was actually vocalizing out loud.

"So, when are you going back to the gym?" Bunz asked.

"Ah, never," Sammi replied. "On account of the minor incident I endured a few weeks ago."

"I remember," Bunz said patiently. "But did you not hear him say he would make sure nobody messed with you?"

"What exactly does that mean to me?" Sammi demanded. "I don't need or want a bodyguard. I don't need to work out at Colt's Gym that bad."

"Maybe not," Bunz replied. "And I'm fairly certain he wasn't suggesting that he would be your bodyguard. But he made a promise to ensure your comfort and safety. That's pretty damn nice of him."

Sammi whirled around and glared at her friend suspiciously. "Since when do _you_ care what Tommy Conlon says or does?"

"I don't," Bunz said. "I care about _you_. And you seemed to like going to the gym. And I don't think that you should let a bad experience prevent you from doing something you enjoy, especially when the owner himself came all the way down to Little Italy to apologize to you in person and tell you that he would essentially have your back if you decided to go back to his gym."

"It's really not that deep," Sammi replied, and moved to start grinding fresh espresso.

"Plus," Bunz added, "seeing him on TV is totally different than seeing him in person. The man is _fine."_

Sammi chuckled and shook her head. "That's what this is _really_ about. I see."

"He is. Come on, Sam. You have to admit it."

"I don't have to do a damn thing," Sammi replied automatically, but she had to agree with her friend. Tommy Conlon was, to say the very least, a beautiful specimen of a man. She blushed suddenly, thinking that she'd seen more of him in person before than just his face, and as far as she could tell, he was beautiful _everywhere_. "Maybe _you_ ought to be the one working out at the gym."

"I ain't scared," Bunz said. "Maybe I will."

"Not sure how Anthony would feel about that," Sammi pointed out with a grin.

"Oh, yeah," Bunz said, sounding unmoved. "Anthony. Totally forgot about him. Jeez. Two minutes with a gorgeous white boy and I'm trippin'."

Sammi snickered as she poured the grounds into the espresso container. Maybe she was being a little hard on Tommy, but who was he for her to _not _be hard on? He was just some troubled, local MMA celebrity with baggage and a gym. Yeah, he'd been nice to her when she'd gotten attacked, and yeah, he'd voluntarily parted with $105 per month, maybe more, by kicking the three stooges out of his gym. And yeah, it _was_ sort of sweet he'd come down to the café just to apologize to her and invite her back although she still didn't see what the big deal was to him. But she wasn't sure if any of those things were worth her going back to a place where she'd been assaulted and violated. She didn't know if she'd be able to work out there again and not think about it.

_Sorry, Tommy Conlon_, she thought. _Too little, too late._

:O:O:O:

Word of the story of "the girl in guy's clothing who came to Colt's" spread like wildfire through the gym, despite Tommy's best efforts not to let it. He was annoyed every time someone brought it up, even though he was getting praise for acting the way he had. But he hadn't done it for praise or recognition; he'd intervened because it had been the decent thing to do. It had gotten to a point where he turned a deaf ear to any more commentary on the subject.

A week had passed since he'd gone to the café and he still hadn't seen Sammi back at the gym, so he assumed now, it was case closed. While he was sorry she felt like she couldn't come back, he knew he'd done right by her and the situation, and at this point, he was washing his hands of it. But when almost everyone was talking about it, it seemed, it made shutting the door on that particular event difficult if not altogether impossible.

As a result, there _were _women coming to the gym, but not to work out – apparently, the guys had taken Sammi's infiltration as a sign that women could and should come to the gym, so when they started popping up, Tommy at first had some hope. But it became quickly clear that the women were there to pick up their boyfriends, drop off food, equipment, gym bags, payments, or – most annoying of all – stand by the ring and cheer them on while they sparred against each other. Frequently, the girlfriends brought their friends with them and all but threw them at Tommy. The girls were only too glad to offer to fetch and carry for him, in a _multitude _of different ways couched in clever double entendres. And they were so obvious. Aside from their comments, they came to the gym fully made up, dressed up in tight and low cut clothing, laughing loudly to catch his attention, finding any reason at all to put their hands on him. He was personally affronted and disgusted. Was this what _real, actual_ famous people dealt with and expected? Did they take down every woman who flung themselves at them, use them and move on? And the women – for Christ's sake. Was there a woman left _anywhere_ with a shred of dignity and decency about herself?

So, Tommy spent a lot of time in his office with the door closed. It irked him, because he knew he needed to be spending a hefty bit of time training for the Ithaca tournament in New York, but he couldn't stand to be around the clientele's girlfriends and their slutty friends.

He had to laugh ruefully at himself. Any other guy would love to be in his position. What guy _wouldn't _love "pussy on demand"? If he were interested, he knew he could knock down all of these girls and still probably have them coming back for more – but that wasn't him. There were plenty of pretty, if overly done up, girls out there just _begging _for a shot with him, but that wasn't what would make him happy. He'd had meaningless sex before, and it hadn't done anything for him other than to make him feel emptier and lonelier than he actually was. He would never admit it to anyone, but Tess, his sister-in-law, had hit the nail on the head a few weeks ago during a family dinner. "You need a girlfriend," she'd said. He'd simply scoffed and waved her off, making some offhand comment about how women were more trouble than they were worth, while laughing at both her and Bren, but he couldn't deny the truth of her words – he _would _like someone in his life, someone he could trust and take care of, someone to take care of him. She might or might not exist; but he knew for _damn_ sure she wasn't out in the bevy of Barbie-like whores gathered around the ring. And until he found her, if he ever did, he was only too content to keep his dick in his pants and mind his own business.

Fenroy and Leon were picking up Tommy's slack, though. For every girl Tommy brushed off, Fen and Leon were there to catch them and pick up their pieces. Tommy sighed, shaking his head. He supposed he should be glad _someone _was getting something out of it other than a migraine.

_Speaking of…_

Tommy brought his fingers to his temples and rubbed, glancing at the clock. It was about time to close up, but based on the ruckus from outside, he knew he'd have to go out there and start kicking people out.

Fen burst into his office. "Hey, boss!" he said cheerfully. "Listen, I'm gonna start sending people out of here, but I wanted to let you know – there's this _cute _redhead out there asking for you! I'm taking her and her friend out for some drinks after this – you need to come, dude. _Sure thing_." He lifted his brows meaningfully at Tommy.

Tommy smirked and shook his head. "Nah, man. You got it. I'm good."

"Come on, bro!" Fenroy insisted. "You haven't tapped any of that out there! Take a load off. At least relieve some stress."

"I'm good," Tommy repeated. "You and Leon are doing just fine without me."

Fen smirked. "I know what's wrong," he said in a teasing tone. "You're just butt-hurt since that little Italian chick never came back after you went crawling on hands and knees to say you're sorry."

"Hey, man," Tommy said, rising from his chair. "Fuck you. Mind your own business."

"Come on," Fenroy exclaimed. "If you like her, just go see her again."

"I am not having this conversation with you, Fenroy," Tommy said impatiently. "Now, get these people the fuck out of my gym so I can lock up and do something productive."

"Cool," Fen said, disappointed. "Guess I'll do that and then _I'll_ go do something productive. Maybe a couple somethings." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Tommy shook his head again.

"Whatever," he said. "Just make sure you wear a rubber and don't bring crabs into this gym."

When the gym was finally empty, Tommy locked up and turned his attention to a punching bag. He'd give himself an hour then head home for the night. As he slugged it out on the bag, he thought about Sammi. He'd never considered contacting her again after she'd made it clear she was done with the gym, but he had to admit that maybe Fen wasn't so off-base with his comment. Sammi _was _a beautiful girl, and there was something about her that made her seem totally different from the girls that came to the gym.

_Never see _her _again,_ Tommy told himself, slamming his fist into the bag with more force than necessary


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

A couple nights later, Tommy was sparring in the ring. It was a blessedly quiet night, for _once_, and the gym was relatively empty. He didn't know if there was some sort of special event going on that night that made Colt's so empty, and he didn't care. All he knew was that he finally had some peace and quiet.

He was sparring with Fenroy, and Leon was there, along with three or four other guys. It was one of the rare nights that came along lately that Tommy cherished, and he wasted no time hopping in the ring. He couldn't afford to let opportunities such as these pass him by, not with the tournament looming nearer and nearer.

Fenroy had started off by running him through some training drills, making him work up a sweat and work on his strength training. Tommy was satisfied with how his training had been coming along over the last month and a half. With just four weeks left until the tournament, it was crunch time, but he was confident. Not over-confident – that wasn't his style. But he knew he was in better shape and form than he'd been at Sparta with just under a month until the actual competition.

Now, he circled Fen in the ring. Fenroy was definitely a top sparring partner in the gym; in fact, he could compete himself if he wanted to. But for some reason, fighting wasn't really his thing; he preferred training, helping to develop other fighters. He'd used to fight for purses a couple years ago, but eventually the desire and luster for competitive fighting had diminished and he was now happy to simply train other fighters. But the man's experience certainly made him a worthy adversary in the ring, and Tommy was concentrating harder than he normally needed to as he went up against Fen.

Fen lashed out with a lightning-fast jab which Tommy deflected, only to take a sharp kick in the ribs. He stumbled backward but quickly caught his feet, then rushed Fenroy with a slicing elbow followed by a left hook, then dropped down and swept Fen's feet out from under him. He rolled backward and hopped up quickly before Fen could drop him from his prone position in the ring.

"Fucking quick bastard!" Fen called as he rose to his feet. Tommy laughed at him behind his mouth guard, hopping lightly from foot to foot as he focused in on Fenroy's shoulder line. From the way Fen tensed slightly and leaned, Tommy knew instantly it would likely be a jab coming off the left shoulder. He sent up a blocking forearm just as Fen's fist flew at him and then sent a hard push-kick with his left foot into Fen's gut. The air audibly rushed out of his lungs as he stumbled back, bouncing off the ropes. He held up a hand.

"All right, you Irish fuck," he panted. "Give me a minute."

Tommy pulled his mouth guard out and smirked. "Sure, buddy," he said sarcastically. "Take all the time you need."

Breathlessly, Fenroy held up an extended middle finger before replacing his hand to his knee and sucking in a deep breath.

A sudden rush of cold air filled the gym, signifying the front door had just opened, and Tommy glanced over his shoulder to see who it was coming to the gym at nine-thirty on a Thursday night. He did a double take as he caught a glimpse of shiny dark hair in a high, messy ponytail. A pair of warm brown eyes met his briefly, and he clenched his jaw to keep it from falling open in surprise; the last person on earth he'd expected to see was sauntering casually past the ring, toward the bags at the back.

As his eyes went over her form, he was pleased to see she was dressed in gym attire, but it was feminine. She'd apparently thrown caution to the wind now that her cover was blown, and wore a pair of form-fitting black yoga pants under a gray T-shirt that looked like its sleeves had been ripped off. He caught a flash of a bright pink sports bra through the large holes where the sleeves had once been as she shook out of her athletic jacket. Her hands were already wrapped, he noticed as she stretched her slimly muscled arms out behind her, rolling her head around on her neck. She glanced over her shoulder at him, and he gave her a half-smile and a nod of acknowledgment before turning away to face Fenroy again.

"Ah, shit," Fen crowed quietly. "Looks like your girlfriend came back after all. Damn, who knew she had all of _that_ under those baggy-ass clothes?"

"Shut up," Tommy said, pointing a finger at him warningly. He glanced around at the other guys, who were still crowded around the ring, but all of their heads were swiveled in Sammi's direction as she pounded away at her bag, her earbuds in place. They were laughing and making low comments about her shape, her attire. He snapped his fingers to draw their attention and scowled when they finally looked at him.

"Don't look at her," he said, a sharp edge to his voice. "Don't talk to her, don't breathe in her direction, don't think about her. Leave her the fuck alone. I see any of you fuckin' wit' her, your ass is mine. Copy that?"

There was a round of terse, disappointed nods and Tommy turned back toward Fenroy once more, popping his mouth guard back in place. His sparring partner was openly smirking at him, cocking his head.

"Was that you having her back?" Fenroy asked, shaking his arms out at his side before adopting a fighting stance. "Or…you marking your territory?"

Tommy glowered at him, lifting his fists and making a "come on" gesture.

"'Cause you may as well have gone over there, lifted your leg, and pissed all over her if that's what you wanted to do," Fen went on, that stupid smirk never leaving his face.

He was still speaking when Tommy rushed him; he knew it wasn't particularly sportsmanlike of him to do so, but he wanted to shut Fen's dumb ass up before Sammi might actually hear what he was saying. Fen took the hint as well as a hard, sharp elbow to his solar plexus and shut up, and they continued with their sparring session. Gradually, the novelty of the "new girl" in the gym wore off, and people continued to go about their normal business until Tommy realized it was closing time.

The guys trickled out after trips to the locker room and gathering all their things. Fen checked if Tommy needed him to do anything, but Tommy waved him off and Fen left. Tommy retreated to his office and toweled himself off, changing into the clean shirt he kept in the bag under his desk before turning off the light and locking the door after him. The lone sound of fists against punching bag met his ears, and he followed it around the ring to where she was still going at it.

She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and had shucked her ripped up gray T-shirt as she pummeled the bag. Her earbuds were still firmly in place, and she had tucked her ponytail into a roll on top of her head, loose strands sticking wetly to the back of her neck. He heard her sharp exhales with every punch thrown, seeing her ribs contract tightly with the pushing out of breath. His eyes traveled the length of her back, noting the indentation her spine made all the way down, the well-developed muscles there flexing and moving with every powerful thrust of her arm.

It was obvious she had completely lost track of time, and hadn't noticed Tommy standing at a respectful distance behind her. He reached out and tapped the back of her shoulder lightly, quickly. He was surprised when she jumped a mile, flinched, and recoiled away from him, the shoulder he'd touched dipping low under his hand as she whirled away. Her shocked, fearful, wide brown eyes met his as she continued to back up, feet moving fast.

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, raising his hands slowly in the air to show he was no threat. "Hey," he said, as she scrambled to pull an earbud out. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just came to let you know I'm getting ready to close up."

She'd been breathing hard through her nose, and at his words, she visibly started to relax, her fists unclenching. He frowned slightly, knowing that her reaction went way beyond merely being startled. She'd actually been _scared _for a second.

"Yeah, sorry," she breathed, stepping past him and snatching up a towel. "Let me get my stuff together and then I'll get out of your hair."

He averted his eyes as she quickly mopped the sweat off her arms and torso, suddenly aware that she was dressed only in her sports bra and yoga pants, and that she looked amazing. She suddenly seemed self-conscious as though she realized the same, and quickly dropped her T-shirt on over her head. He cleared his throat and took another step back, giving her plenty of space.

"So you decided to come back," he said lightly. She nodded her head once as she zipped herself into her jacket and grabbed her bag.

"I did," she said finally. "I figured that if the owner himself would come all the way out to Bloomfield to apologize, I could at least give this place another chance." She offered him a half-smile and followed him toward the door.

"Well, I'm glad you came back," he replied. "You've got too much talent to waste, anyway. You ever thought about sparring? Competing?"

She looked shocked. "_Me?_" she said, gesturing to herself. "Ah, no. Not really my thing."

"No?" Tommy said. "That's a shame. You could really do some damage in the women's MMA leagues."

She smirked and shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm just in it for the fitness."

"I can tell you've had some training before," Tommy said, leaning against the door and folding his arms. "You ever take lessons or something?"

"I had a trainer," she said, her voice coming out softer. She glanced away. "In New York. Where I'm from. But I moved here with my family last year. So since I've been here, I haven't had any training."

"I'll spar with you," Tommy offered with a shrug. "If you want. I'm thinking about putting on a women's self-defense course. You could be my guinea pig. Maybe even my assistant."

"That's nice of you to want to do that for women," she said. "But, um…no, thanks."

He didn't press the issue, but he noticed the way she couldn't look him in the eye and how she was almost mumbling. Something was definitely up with her, but now was certainly not the time or place to try to figure it out.

He pushed open the door for her, following her out into the cold night, and pulled the door shut behind him, locking it firmly before sliding the gate across to further discourage any break-ins. He glanced over his shoulder at her, noting with curiosity that she seemed to be waiting for him. He finished locking the gate and turned to face her.

"How you gettin' home?" he asked. He was planning to take the subway himself, and was about to offer to see her home. Ma would have turned in her grave if she knew he'd let a young lady walk home all by herself late at night.

She pointed over her shoulder to a car across the street with the headlights on. "That's Bunz," she replied. "She'll take me home."

Tommy lifted a hand vaguely in the direction of the car. It was too dark to really see anything, but a moment later he saw the window roll down and a hand stick out, waving a greeting back to him. He nodded at Sammi, preparing to turn but something in her face stopped him.

"I want to say thank you," she said in a rush. "For – for sticking up for me when those guys ran up on me. For trying to help me out. I'm sorry I brushed you off like that. And…and going out of your way to come to the café. All that was…was really nice of you. And I just want to say thanks."

He was surprised and a little embarrassed. It made him uncomfortable to hear his actions verbally laid out like that when he hadn't done anything for any reason other than to try and be a good person.

"No trouble," he said, taking his turn to avert his eyes and lower his voice. "I just don't like shit like that, is all."

He glanced at her, and for the first time, her lips pulled into a full, if close-lipped, smile. "Well…it was really nice of you," she repeated.

He nodded. "Get home safe," he said lightly. "Your girl is waitin' on you. I'll see you around."

"Good night," she replied, and as he headed off, he glanced back to see she'd made it across the street all right and was safely in her friend's car.

His mind was spinning as he hopped on the train. He couldn't figure her out. Most women he could peg pretty easily within the first few minutes of conversation, but Sammi was a complete enigma to him. He was genuinely surprised at her thanking him when he'd assumed all he'd managed to do was annoy her. He was also still puzzled by her reaction to him tapping her, her unwillingness to spar with him…

He shook his head. He was probably being uncharacteristically analytical. Maybe she was just jumpy, and maybe she was intimidated at the thought of sparring with a guy.

Either way, he hoped for the opportunity to find out.

:O:O:O:

Sammi came to the gym earlier the following night, about seven-thirty. He was checking over the dumbbells and kettle-bells by the punching bags and glanced up at her as she walked over. She gave him a half-smile as she dropped her bag on the ground and stretched her arms. He nodded in reply and turned back to his inventory list as she set to work on the bag.

After a few moments, he glanced over at her, studying her form for a moment. Now that she wasn't drowning in oversized clothing, he could study her better and critique her form. Her previous training was evident, but it was also evident that she'd been away from it for a while. She wasn't quite as sharp as she should be, but her punches were as hard as ever.

Finally, he set his clipboard down and stepped over to her carefully. He made sure to stay within her peripheral vision, not wanting to frighten her like he had the night before. Her eyes shifted toward him automatically and he motioned for her to take her earbuds out. She complied, lifting a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"Hey," he said. "Not to interrupt. Just noticed something. When you throw an uppercut, make sure you lower your shoulder a little and throw from the hip. Twist a little." He stepped up beside her, slightly moving around toward the back, instincts telling him to keep his hands where she could see. "Can I show you?"

She visibly tensed, but nodded hesitantly. He stepped behind her, angling slightly so he was nearer to her right side.

"When you throw the right," he began, gently pressing on her right shoulder, "lower this side a little more." He moved her shoulder for her the way he wanted it to go. "Turn your hips with it and lift your heel off the ground." He knew he might be pushing it, but he let his hands settle just above her hips, lightly, and manipulated the action he wanted them to take. He nudged the toe of his shoe against the heel of hers, prodding her to lift her heel as she rotated her hips. "All the power should come from here." He patted her right hip lightly, then stepped back.

She was flushing. She nodded without meeting his gaze. "Thanks, I'll remember that."

"No problem," he replied. "Otherwise you're perfect." He immediately realized what he'd said and how it might be perceived and cleared his throat. He turned to move back toward his clipboard. When he finished his inventory, he shuffled back to his office and quickly stripped his clean T-shirt off and replaced it with a beat-up, ratty shirt to workout in. He headed back out toward the punching bags, glancing briefly at Sammi and was pleased to see she was applying the technique advice he'd given her. She looked much better now.

He stretched his neck and arms, put in his own earbuds, and started in on the bag in front of him. He was so consumed in what he was doing and the music that time flew by. After a while, he felt the tap of fingers on his shoulder and he turned sharply. Sammi stood behind him, her jacket on and bag over her shoulder. She gave him a little wave as he pulled the earbuds out.

"You takin' off for the night?" he asked, slightly out of breath as he used his towel to mop up his face.

"Yeah," she replied. "I need to go home and get ready for work."

He cocked his head. It was nine on a Friday night. "The café?" he asked, a note of confusion in his voice.

She shook her head, her ponytail swaying. "No. I bartend over at Cliff's Lounge a couple nights a week. Usually on the weekend."

Cliff's Lounge was a ritzy place in the Strip District. Tommy had never been there, but some of his friends had, and they told tales of the bartenders and cocktail waitresses. Supposedly they all looked like models; given the upscale clientele, the owner reportedly hired only the most beautiful women to ensure a high amount of business. He wasn't surprised to hear that Sammi had snagged a job there, although it was hard to picture her in anything dressier than the jeans she'd worn when he'd visited the café.

"Two jobs, huh?" he asked. "Must keep you pretty busy."

"Three, actually," she replied, to his surprise. She smiled. "I also teach dance on Wednesday nights and Saturday mornings."

He was impressed. "Dance?" he repeated. "What kind of dance?"

"Ballet," she said. "I teach twelve- to sixteen-year-olds."

"No wonder your posture's so good," Tommy said, noting her straight back and elongated neck. It made sense; there was a grace about her movements, everything from the way she walked to the way she threw her punches. Grace certainly wasn't taught to professional fighters. "So you've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Yes," she said with a sigh. "I actually will work all three of my jobs tomorrow."

Tommy let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Sounds exhausting."

"It is," she replied. "That's why I look forward to Sunday so much. The one day where I have absolutely nothing to do. Unless you count Sunday dinner with the family." She tilted her head and smiled.

"If we're talkin' _my _family," Tommy said, "then I definitely count that as a strenuous activity." He smiled when she chuckled quietly. She glanced down at the toes of her sneakers, then back up at him. As she did so, he noticed that he had at least half a foot of height over her.

"Well," she said lightly. "I better be on my way. I just wanted to say good night."

"Good night," he echoed, watching her walk off. He wondered if she'd come in tomorrow, and found himself selfishly hoping she would so he'd be able to see her and talk to her again. He chided himself mentally, knowing she obviously needed rest with as much as she had going on.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he was becoming more and more intrigued by Sammi Carnevale.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The next morning Sammi hustled into the café, fifteen minutes late. When she hurried in, she saw that it was pretty busy. Her father was behind the register, and tapped a finger on his wrist to show that he had noticed she was late. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he waved her off. She smirked to herself and hung up her jacket and went into the back.

She normally would have had to be there at the crack of dawn to help Bunz with the day's baking and getting the store ready for its eight o'clock opening. But her parents had been so pleased when she'd taken the ballet teaching job that they had eagerly amended her schedule to let her come in late on Saturdays. They had been so happy that she'd revisited her one true passion from…before. Now, her mother helped Bunz with the baking in the early morning while her father tended to the registers, made the coffee, and completed general opening duties and dealt with the customers until Sammi arrived. She personally liked for her parents to do as little around the café as possible. They were more like absentee landlords, and had bigger fish to fry with the apartment complex they owned, where Sammi lived. Not only that, Sammi wanted to prove that despite her recent traumatic turn of events, she was still smart, capable, and dependable. As a result, her parents came to the café once during the week, on Saturday mornings, and on Sundays when the place was closed after mass to go over the books and the registers and prepare the cash deposits for the next day.

Now that she had arrived, her parents assisted with the last of the late Saturday morning rush, peddling coffee and pastries to bleary-eyed college students, enterprising young professionals and the elderly who were out to take the early spring, albeit chilly, air. Once the crowd died down a bit, her mother and father kissed both her and Bunz good-bye and made to leave.

"We'll see you tomorrow for dinner," her mother said, and it was more of a threat than an invite. She allowed Sammi's father to help her into her coat before pointing at Bunz. "You coming too, for once?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carnevale," Bunz said with true regret. "Not tomorrow. I have a huge paper due on Wednesday and it needs my full attention. Maybe next week, though."

"Fine," Mrs. Carnevale sighed, tossing her hand up in defeat. "I just worry about you not getting a good, hot meal in your belly. You college kids, you work too hard."

"Bye, Mom," Sammi said, smiling and shaking her head. It was their typical parting routine on Saturdays.

"Bye, girls," her father called over his shoulder. "Be safe and make some money today, huh?"

"Yes, Pop," Sammi called out. "Now go."

Bunz handed off a tray of freshly baked bigne to Sammi to put out in the display case before turning her attention to some biscotti dough before her. Sammi dutifully carried the tray out and began carefully placing each pastry in the case. She noticed that Bunz and her mother had been busy – there were several loaves of Italian bread, three different kinds of cupcakes, some whoopee pies filled with cannoli filling, and croissants. She knew they were all fresh.

As she finished with the tray, the lone college student huddled at a table in the corner approached the counter for a refill on her latte. Sammi began measuring out the espresso and started the drip after adding the requested caramel flavoring, and began steaming the milk, humming to herself. The café would close at five and she had to be at Cliff's by eleven. She thought about going to the gym for a bit, then going home for a much needed nap.

She handed off the latte to the girl and grabbed the tray, taking it back into the kitchen. As she set it on the counter, she felt eyes on her and glanced up, seeing Bunz staring at her with a huge grin on her face.

"What, creepy?" she demanded but tempered her words with a smile.

"I have something for you," Bunz replied, and reached into her back pocket, pulling out what looked like a normal sheet of paper, folded in half. It was sealed with a Strawberry Shortcake sticker and had "SAM" written in marker on the front, accompanied by little doodles of hearts, flowers, and stars.

Sammi took the paper with a smirk. "Is this your work?" she asked, gesturing to the doodles on the front.

"Yes, and I'll thank you to appreciate some artistic shit when it's in your face," Bunz replied, folding her arms. "Anyway, open it!"

Sammi smiled, her dimples digging into her cheeks, and broke the sticker, unfolding the paper. Her eyes scanned the page, quickly seeing that it was a flyer.

"Pittsburgh Talent Showcase," the top of the flyer boasted. Her eyes dropped lower. It was an invitation for the best and brightest talents of Pittsburgh to come to the Benedum Center in the Cultural District two months from today's date. The showcase called for musicians, singers, spoken word poets, artists, and…dancers. There was further information on how and where to register as well as the cost to register for entering a piece for the showcase.

She lifted her eyes to Bunz, who was still grinning. "What is this?" she asked softly, holding up the flyer.

"Um, I thought you were just reading it…"

"No. I get what it is. I mean, _why_ did you give it to me?"

Bunz shrugged. "I thought that maybe, you know, you could create a piece for the showcase and show everyone in Pittsburgh what an incredible dancer you are."

"Except for the small part where I don't perform in front of people anymore." Sammi folded the flyer and handed it back.

Bunz made no move to collect it from her. "You just _think_ you can't," she insisted. "But, you _can_. And you _should_. You're so talented, Sam. Don't hide that!"

"I appreciate it," Sammi replied, folding the flyer again and stuffing it into her pocket since Bunz wouldn't take it. "But I cannot even begin to fathom dancing for a crowd. I know you mean well, and I love you for it, B, but I'm sorry. I can't."

"You will," Bunz replied, and Sammi whirled her head to look at her.

"Pardon?"

"You _will_," Bunz repeated. "Because I already registered you and paid the fee."

"I guess I'm paying you back, then," Sammi said evenly.

"No. I don't want your money. I want you to get on that stage and blow everyone away."

"Dude," Sammi said impatiently. "I'm paying you back. I refuse to let you do that and besides, I'm not doing this."

"I won't take your money," Bunz said, a note of finality in her voice. "You will get your ass on that stage and dance, bitch."

"Then I'll give this money to your bosses and have them put it into your check," Sammi said testily. "Don't know if you knew, but I know where you work."

"And I will give it back to your parents to give back to you," Bunz replied. "We can do this all day. Look, you've got two whole months. Put something awesome together and let's get it poppin'! You're amazing, Sammi, I don't know why you don't get that. You could do _this_ and people would be wowed." Bunz started a Charleston step, grinning from ear to ear. Sammi couldn't stay mad at her and reluctantly, a smile pulled at her lips. Finally, she couldn't help but join in, and she wondered what anyone who could see them would say – two grown women doing the Charleston in the kitchen of an Italian café.

Finally, when they were laughing loudly enough to echo out into the dining area, Sammi shook her head. "I will _think_ about it," she said. "That's all I can promise you. And if I don't do the showcase, you're getting your money back and if you have anything else to say on the subject, you can suck it."

Bunz immediately made to protest but Sammi held up a hand. "I'll _think_ about it," she cautioned.

Bunz sighed and grumbled. "Fine." As she turned back to her biscotti dough, Sammi heard her mumbling to herself under her breath.

"What's that?" she asked, pausing in the doorway of the kitchen and putting her hands on her hips.

"Nothing!" Bunz called back cheerily. Then, in a lower tone to herself but meant to be heard by Sammi, she added, "Bitch."

Sammi chuckled and shook her head, heading back to the counter.

:O:O:O:

Tommy knew he had a problem.

Over the course of the next week, Sammi came each and every night, just as she always did. The difference was, Tommy now found himself seeking her out around the times she normally showed up, and when he saw her, his gut would do strange things and clench up in an uncomfortable way.

It wasn't anything he was particularly familiar with and he wasn't sure what it meant or how he felt about it. All he knew was that he _physically_ reacted when he saw her, and he didn't like _that_ at all. He didn't like knowing that something or some_one_ was capable of making him react involuntarily that way. He'd always prided himself on his absolute control and decisions where he, alone, was concerned. Now, someone he barely knew had him checking around for her each day and had his stomach pulsing and heart beating just a little bit harder than normal whenever he saw her. He was annoyed – that shit was for pussies.

He would have been fine leaving her completely alone, letting her come in and work out as she wanted to and then go about her own business. Now that it was clear that she, along with any other woman there, spectator or participant, should be left alone and treated with equal respect (an ideology that disgusted Tommy to have to even break down for a group of adults), she was taken as much for granted as the paint on the wall by the other clientele.

But she went out of her way to seek him out, to make conversation, to say hello and goodbye. And he never failed to respond in kind. Partly because it would be rude to simply ignore someone who was talking to him. And also because…he _wanted _to.

She had a sarcastic, dry sense of humor that made him laugh out loud on occasion. That in and of itself was totally unheard of – it was rare for anyone to see him smile, let alone hear him laugh. After all the pain of the last year, he hadn't even be sure he remembered how to do that anymore. And yet, without even trying, Sammi could have him barking with laughter involuntarily at some story of a ridiculous customer at either the café or the lounge, or something that one of her crazy family members had said.

There was something about her, though, that caught his attention even more than her looks or her wit. There was an oppressive heaviness that clung to her. Somewhere in the depths of her warm brown eyes was an unbearable sadness, almost a hopelessness, a despair. He could see it, but he couldn't understand it. And he wanted to understand it.

Whatever it was, whatever caused that torment and pain to linger in her eyes, she never spoke of it. She never came off as anything other than laid back, except for when he caught her off guard. The nights he would go let her know he was closing up, or if he went to say hello first, and she didn't see him coming, she would always start and recoil from him like he'd tried to brand her with a hot iron. The despair and sadness would leave her eyes and be replaced with sheer, unadulterated terror. He could never understand that – was it the fear of being attacked in the gym again? He wanted to ask her; he wanted to ask so badly but he knew he'd be _way _out of line. So, he stuck to basic conversation. Besides, that was a huge stretch for him anyway. In fact, everything he'd done since the night she'd been attacked had been a huge stretch for him. He couldn't make sense of it, and that always brought him back to his annoyance with himself. And then, he'd see her, and the cycle would start all over again.

On Friday, he was at the front desk with Fen, watching the small TV mounted on the wall behind the desk. It was an ESPN report about Ithaca, and it was a formal announcement of all the fighters. There were to be eight fighters total. A few of the names, Tommy shrugged at. He knew who they were; they had reps for being bad-asses. He wasn't particularly concerned with them. Two names he outright didn't recognize which meant more than likely they were amateurs who happened to be really, really good – much like how he got started. Then there was him – all of the clientele who happened to be within earshot of the TV erupted into whoops and cheers as Fenroy grabbed his shoulders. Tommy didn't crack a smile, shaking his head. The final two fighters that were announced made him cringe inwardly. Both had been fighting professionally for a long time, and it just so happened that both had had previous engagements that made them unavailable for Sparta. But now…they were in, and Tommy couldn't help feeling a pang of nervousness. He quickly shook it off. Good – he was glad there were going to be some hotshots there. It would only make him that much hungrier, work that much harder.

"Oh, wow. Look at that. You're on the TV."

The unenthusiastic voice drew his attention and he glanced over his shoulder, smirking when he saw Sammi leaning against the counter. He didn't know how long she'd been there but she looked positively underwhelmed and unimpressed even as the guys nearby and Fen were still carrying on.

"Yeah," he replied, mocking her tone. "How 'bout that."

"Hey, don't be a hater, Carnevale," Fenroy said, pointing a finger at her. "Just wait until he comes back with that two milli purse. Then you'll want to be his best friend."

She stood listening to him, her face unmoved. When he was done, she tilted her head. "You know…." She trailed off. "_Fenroy_, is it?"

He nodded. "You can call me Fen for short."

"How sweet of you," she said smoothly. "You know, Fen, if you're going to insist on calling me by my last name, the least you could do is pronounce it right."

Fen made a face. "Carnevale," he said. "What's so hard about that?" Tommy noticed he pronounced it car-neh-vahl.

"It's _car-neh-val-ay_," Sammi said, rolling her _r_'s and gesturing dramatically with her hand. "Two a's, two e's, and pronounce it all. I'm _Italian_. C'mon, now." She flicked her hand dismissively and sauntered past the desk toward her usual spot.

"My bad," Fen called after her. "Don't be mad at me, _Carnevale._" Tommy couldn't help snickering quietly at Fen's discomfit. He punched Fen's shoulder.

"Get it right next time," he said.

Fen grabbed his arm and winced. "Ow. Hey, fuck you, man. You weren't saying it right either."

"I didn't have to after a while," Tommy replied, enjoying busting Fen's balls. "We're on a first name basis now."

"And that's about it," Fen finished up, then ducked Tommy's next swing.

Later that night, he was going over some paperwork in the office when Sammi stopped by on her way out. She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe even though he'd seen her heading over.

"Heading to Cliff's?" he asked.

"Believe it or not, I actually have the night off," Sammi replied. "Another girl wanted an extra shift so, even though it was hard, I sacrificed mine."

"That's big of you," Tommy replied, suppressing a smirk.

"It really was. Anyway, Bunz and I are going get a jumpstart on the baking for tomorrow. So, essentially I'll still be working."

"Hope you get some sleep in there somewhere," Tommy replied, popping a toothpick in his mouth and stacking some papers together.

"Right. So, anyway, I _am _working at Cliff's tomorrow, and since the Pirates and the Yankees are playing at PNC tomorrow night and we're not a sports bar, it should be relatively quiet."

Tommy nodded and waited for her to make her point silently, lifting his brows.

"Anyway," she said again. "If you and your boys wanted to come by for a drink I could probably hook you up with a couple freebies. Just saying."

Tommy was surprised at the invitation and caught off guard. It was so random and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Was she implying that she wanted to see him outside the gym? He realized that she was waiting for some sort of acknowledgment or reply, so he cleared his throat.

"Uh, sure. That sounds good. I'll talk to Fen and Leon. Maybe drag my brother's ass out for a change." He chose not to mention that he didn't really drink during training.

She looked pleased. "Okay. Well, no pressure. I just thought that since it'd be pretty quiet in there, you wouldn't really be bothered like you seem to be here by people coming up to you all the time. And, like I said. I can probably score you guys a couple free beers or something."

He allowed himself a half-smile. "That's nice of you. Thanks."

She cleared her throat and gave a little shrug. "All right, then. Have a good one." She turned and walked away before he could reply.

Annoyance rose again as he felt _excitement_ at the prospect of seeing her the following evening, even though she'd be working. It was just a nice gesture from one human being to another. Nothing more, nothing less. Even so…

"Fen," he called, heading toward the door and hating himself for it. _Bad as a fuckin' teenager. _"What you doing tomorrow night?"

:O:O:O:

As Sammi walked out to Bunz's car parked across the street, she cursed herself with every step. What the fuck was wrong with her? Inviting Tommy Conlon of all people to Cliff's for drinks? Free drinks, at that? He probably thought she was some desperate groupie now. Over the past week, they'd made lots of small talk, and she grew to look forward to seeing him each day. He was very quiet but observant, and she liked the way he paid attention to her little daily anecdotes and stories. She'd even managed to make him laugh a couple of times. Though he was still very much an enigma to her, he was nice, much nicer than she would ever have expected him to be, and he was attentive in his own way. She had known of him, of course, as all of Pittsburgh did, from the Sparta event and all the coverage about him going AWOL and how he'd fought his own brother at Sparta. Before her attack at the gym, she'd admired him only for his athleticism and grace in the ring; she'd assumed, unfairly as it turned out, that he would be some big-headed prick with an ego the size of the Statue of Liberty. Even after her attack, if she was being honest, the way he'd reacted by kicking the three guys out of his gym and acting concerned about her, she'd thought it was fake; an act to cover his own ass had she decided to press charges. It would have been press he didn't need, and she'd believed that he acted off of that notion. And even when he'd shown up at the café, she _still_ hadn't been convinced of his sincerity. It had taken a lot of thought and a lot of verbal battles between her and Bunz to finally give the gym another try. And she was glad she had, because he'd turned out to be a very nice guy.

Inviting him to Cliff's had been completely impulsive and she had no clue why she'd even thought that would be a good idea. She'd felt a desire to do something nice back for him, the way he had done something nice for her, and it was the first thing that came to mind. He was a guy, right? And in her experience, guys liked to drink with other guys. She figured he was more cut out for the quiet lounge rather than a crowded, loud sports bar where every guy, and probably girl, in there would recognize him and hound him all night. Cliff's was notorious for being empty on game nights since the ambiance was not conducive to supporting sporting events. All of that had swirled together in her little mind faster than her logic could kick in, and the invitation had spurted out of her mouth before she could stop it.

She cringed, smacking her palm to her forehead. There was no way he was going to come, and then she'd have to face him again on Monday and hear his lame excuse as to why he hadn't taken her up on her even more lame offer.

As Sammi reached Bunz's car, she shook her head to herself. She could really be a dumbass sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Tommy followed behind Fen and Leon as they walked into Cliff's the next night. Brendan had actually gotten "permission" from Tess to have a drink with his brother and Tommy was glad for it, although it was a little awkward. They were still working on rebuilding their relationship, but things were gradually getting better.

True to Sammi's promise, Cliff's was pretty quiet at eleven on a Saturday night. The game had gone into overtime but would surely be concluding shortly. Then, the sports bars near the field and downtown would be teeming with drunk and enthusiastic fans – hopefully happy ones, if the score was anything to go off of at the moment. The Pirates were leading.

There was a table of some forty-something women nearby, and a table of young entrepreneurial types in the corner – they were the loudest group in there, and Tommy suspected it was the start of a bachelor party or something similar. Either way, they were late twenty-somethings with styled hair and designers clothes, ogling the waitresses as they trotted back and forth from the bar to fetch drink refills and snacks. There were a few more patrons in the lounge as well, but otherwise, the large, open space was pretty bare.

They claimed a tall table midway between the door and the bar, with tall stools. Tommy opted to stand for a bit, leaning his elbows on the table as he surveyed the room. He counted four waitresses on the floor, mostly waiting on the table of young men. He was sure they were making great tips, but he felt bad for what they were enduring for those tips – he'd seen at least three of them get groped somewhere on their bodies since walking through the door, and there was no shortage of "hey, baby" comments and propositions to follow them home later that night. The waitresses just giggled and acted coy, but Tommy could see on their faces that they'd had enough.

The music was generally radio hits with some hip-hop mixed in. He didn't mind the music but felt that it was a bit out of place in a lounge setting such as this – he would have expected to hear jazz playing. As the table of rowdy young men began rapping along with the next song that came up, he wondered if they were commandeering the music as well as all of the waitresses and the attention of the room.

Fenroy had just started cracking jokes about them when Tommy noticed a curvy brunette out of the corner of his eye moving toward their table. She was dressed in the requisite black that all the waitresses seemed to be wearing, although some wore dresses, some wore shorts. He glanced over at the approaching figure and then did a double-take. He had hardly recognized Sammi. His eyes moved down her frame as Fen let out a low whistle. Tommy kicked him under the table.

"Hey guys," she said, coming to stand at Tommy's side, a slightly apologetic note in her voice. "Sorry about the waitresses – that bachelor party is sort of demanding. I'll take your order for now."

He couldn't get over how different she looked than when she came to the gym or even how she'd looked at the café; tonight, she was completely done up, glamorous even, in the fashion of the other waitresses. She wore a sequined scoop-neck black tank top that revealed a generous portion of her cleavage, which was dusted with some sort of shimmery powder, and a pair of short black shorts. Her hair was down and tousled, shining under the dim lights, and she wore heavy eye makeup. He definitely preferred her more natural look because that was just what he was into normally, but he couldn't help admitting that she looked unbelievably sexy right now, too. There was something else about her that he couldn't put his finger on, but it was different.

"Wow, Sammi, you look great," Fenroy said.

"Thanks," she said with a smirk. "You can thank my boss for that. He decided on the dress code." Her eyes lit on Brendan, the only one she didn't recognize, and smiled shyly.

Tommy was staring at her so hard he didn't immediately realize they were waiting for an introduction until Brendan cleared his throat loudly. He shook himself.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "Sammi, this is my big brother, Brendan. Bren, this is Sammi. She's –" He faltered for a moment. What was she? It had been on the tip of his tongue to say customer, client, or something like that, but it didn't quite seem right.

"A friend," Sammi finished quickly, offering Brendan her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Brendan shook her hand and smiled, subtly shooting Tommy a quick smile of approval. "Nice to meet you, Sammi."

"Well," she said, her hands settling on her hips. "I did promise a round of free drinks. What'll you have?"

"You got Tank 7?" Fen asked.

"I do. I'll have the waitress bring out a round for you." She glanced around, her gaze settling on Tommy, and smiled before she walked off. As she did, he realized what it was about her that had been different. She was wearing black studded boots with a tall spiky heel, the tops of which reached to just under her calf. He was used to her being so much shorter than him, but tonight, she'd almost been eye level.

"Good job," he heard Bren say, and turned just as his older brother's hand clapped down on his shoulder. Tommy looked at him, frowning in confusion.

"Good job on what?" he asked.

Brendan cocked his head curiously. He nodded in the general direction Sammi had gone off in. "Isn't that you?" he replied.

"No," Tommy said, averting his eyes. "I hardly know her. We're not really even friends. She just comes to the gym."

"Yeah, he doesn't spend hours a week talking to her or anything," Fenroy said loudly, making Brendan chuckle and Tommy glare at him murderously. "He doesn't spend the rest of the time talking _about_ her either."

"Shut the fuck up," Tommy said sharply. "He's being stupid," he added to Brendan. "It ain't even like that."

"Why not?" Brendan asked, genuinely confused. "She's a beautiful girl. What's the problem?"

"Nothing," Tommy replied testily. "Who said I had a problem?"

"Oh, Jesus," Leon said, swiping a hand down his face. "Here we go."

"Dude, you don't have a problem," Fenroy said reassuringly, patting the air. "You're just a huge fucking pussy. That's all."

"Fuck you," Tommy shot back, rising from the stool he had just sat down on. At that minute, Sammi returned to the table, carrying a tray with four pint glasses filled with beer.

"Hey, you're our own personal waitress too?" Fenroy asked with a grin. "And here I thought you were just the barkeep."

Sammit shot him a look, but smiled. "The frat boys in the corner are being really demanding and obnoxious, so I guess you guys are stuck with me for a while. Just don't have me walking around all over the place. These shoes hurt my feet."

She placed their glasses in front of them and Tommy shifted uncomfortably as she placed his down. She didn't miss the look on his face and furrowed her brow.

"What is it?" she asked. "Would you like something else? It's no problem. Do you like liquor instead?"

He leaned in so he wouldn't have to shout over the music, close enough to smell her perfume and noted the light smattering of freckles across her nose in the dim lighting. "Actually, can I just have a club soda with lime?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Of course. Sorry, I didn't realize…" Her hand hovered next to the glass.

"Hey, hey, hey," Fenroy said, reaching out to stop her. "You leave that. He's training, he doesn't get to drink."

"Oh," Sammi said, her face visibly relaxing, and for a moment, Tommy wondered if she thought he was an alcoholic or something. She smiled, pushing his glass to the middle of the table. "I'll let you three fight it out. Club soda with lime coming right up."

Tommy nodded his thanks and watched his brother and his friends take down the swill with lust. He knew that Tank 7 was an extremely tasty, potent beer and in fact he enjoyed it. He would have loved to down his pint, but he was extremely dedicated to succeeding at Ithaca, so he pushed the craving aside. Sammi brought him his club soda and lime in record time, and returned to the bar after placing down a bowl of snacks and making sure they were set. As the four of them engaged in random conversations, trading MMA war stories, making comments about the waitresses, and life in general, Tommy's eyes kept straying to Sammi. She seemed perfectly comfortable behind the bar, expertly mixing drinks, pouring beers, garnishing cocktails. She danced idly to whatever song was playing as she worked, and handled the drunken guys across the lounge with grace and ease as they stumbled to the bar, buying shots for themselves and imploring her to take one with them. He saw her comply only twice; the rest of the invitations she either refused or passed off the shots to others.

Eventually, Leon and Fenroy decided to call it a night. They both had to be at the gym fairly early the next morning for opening. Tommy glanced at his watch and noted that it was about time for the lounge to close. He moved toward the bar when he noticed that Sammi seemed relatively free and was wiping down the counter.

"Hey," he said, leaning on the bar.

She glanced up at him and shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. "Hey," she returned. She nodded at their empty table. "Your two friends couldn't keep up?"

He smirked. "Nah. They just have to work in the morning and knew that their boss would be pissed if they were late."

She smiled at that and nodded. "Their boss can certainly be a scary guy when he wants to."

"So, you leavin' here soon?" he asked. "It's about closing time."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I don't have to stay for closing duties tonight, the other girls will handle that. But I want to wait for these assholes to get going." The group of obnoxious guys was very slowly making their way toward the door.

"Well, let me and Bren give you a ride home," Tommy said. "We drove together, and it looks like I'm going to have to drive him anyway. He's a lightweight. Unless your girl is coming to pick you up?"

"No, Bunz and her boyfriend are having a date night tonight," Sammi said. "I don't want to interrupt so I thought I'd take the bus."

Tommy frowned and shook his head. "No. No bus. I'll take you home." He glanced over his shoulder as the lounge suddenly got quieter and noticed that the group of guys had moved outside. He turned back to Sammi. "Why don't you get your stuff and come outside. Bren and I will go get the car."

"If you're sure," Sammi said uncertainly. "Bloomfield is not super close. I'd hate to impose."

"I'm sure," Tommy replied. "Meet you outside." He turned and walked off to collect Brendan before she could protest further. Brendan was hunched over, texting on his phone, hardly noticing when Tommy approached. "C'mon, bro," Tommy said. "Let's get the car. Give me your keys. I'm taking Sammi home, too."

"How chivalrous of you," Brendan said with a smirk.

"Whatever," Tommy said with a shake of his head. "I just don't want her taking the bus by herself that far this late at night."

"Hey, I support this," Brendan said. "A new sister-in-law? Hell, yeah."

Tommy couldn't help laughing out loud at that one. "You might be getting a little ahead of yourself." He threw an arm around his slightly tipsy older brother's shoulder and yanked him toward the door. "Now, come on."

Tommy shoved the door open and saw several of the annoyingly drunken guys still outside. He didn't spare them another glance, shouldering roughly past them, but drew their stares.

"Hey, those are the dudes!" one of them called, and Tommy didn't turn around. "The brothers! The MMA dudes from Sparta! Holy shit, bro, can I have your autograph?"

A chorus of laughs erupted from them when neither Tommy nor Brendan turned around to acknowledge him.

"Asshole!" the speaker shouted at him, slurring his words. Tommy clenched his jaw, his fist balling involuntarily.

"Calm down, man," Brendan said quietly. "Let's just get to the car."

Brendan handed over his keys when they reached his Range Rover and Tommy hopped into the driver's seat. Brendan climbed into the backseat and Tommy looked at him curiously.

"The fuck are you doing?" he demanded. Brendan grinned at him.

"The lady should sit in the front," he said. "I can pretend to pass out if you want, so you can say all your sweet nothings to each other."

Tommy shook his head in annoyance. "Shut up, man." He backed the vehicle out of the stall and carefully pulled out into the street. As he pulled up closer to the bar, he frowned. Sammi was standing just outside the door, and the crowd of guys had closed in on her slightly.

"What's this?" Brendan murmured from the backseat.

Tommy expected her to shove through them to the car; she was a bartender, and he figured she'd be used to dealing with drunk, obnoxious men. But the look on her face stopped him; she was frozen in place, her eyes huge with the same fear he'd seen the night of her attack at the gym, and she stared blankly in front of her as two of the guys leaned in close, flanking her.

Abruptly, Tommy thrust the gear shift into park and hopped out of the car.

:O:O:O:

Sammi hurried through the short checklist of cleaning duties she had at the bar before hurrying to the back to get her jacket and bag. She was grateful for the offered ride home; truthfully, the idea of traveling at least an hour on a smelly bus with the weirdos this late at night freaked her out more than she cared to admit.

"You guys ok?" she called to the other girls.

"Yes," one of them called back. "You stayed mad late last week doing this shit. Go on. We got it."

Sammi smiled over her shoulder. "All right. Have a good night, ladies. Good work tonight."

She moved toward the door, feeling the cool blast of air breeze in from outside as she pushed out. Immediately, her stomach clenched.

Several of the guys from the obnoxious group were outside still, smoking and drunkenly cavorting in front of the lounge. She assumed they were waiting for their friends to come back with the cars. Either way, in order to get across the street she was going to have to walk through them.

"Damn, there she is," one of the guys said and all eyes turned toward her. "That's the one I liked. I been wantin' you all night, honey."

"Holy shit, you're right, Shane," another one chimed in from the other side. "Hey, baby, it's still early. Why don't you come over for a nightcap tonight?"

At once, they all started speaking at her. Their voices were a jumble in her head and she shifted her eyes from side to side, hugging her bag to her chest. Their faces became a blur, their voices distant, and panic threatened to consume her. Her heart jerked oddly in her chest, beating fast, then slow, as anxiety filled her from her toes to the tips of her ears. She felt hot, then cold. Her breathing became hitched and memories, violent memories, assaulted her.

She stared, unseeing, in front of her as she felt their body heat; they were closing in. Terror paralyzed her, and she couldn't move when she felt a hand on her shoulder, then another on her back, sliding down to her hip. She knew she was shaking, and she felt like she might throw up.

_Move, you dumb fuck! _her mind screamed at her. _Yell! Shove them! Get away! Do something! _And yet, her body continued to disobey, keeping her rooted in place. She felt hot breath on her ear, heard the low murmur of a voice, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wanting either the ability to move or to die, right then.

"_Sam."_

His voice was cold, hard, but not angry with her. The strength of that one word made her eyes fly open as every head swiveled toward the voice.

Tommy was standing on the sidewalk a dozen feet away. His face held an expression she'd never seen before; it was the deepest, calmest anger she'd ever seen on a person. He stared at no one but her.

_He called me Sam,_ she thought vaguely. _Not Sammi. Sam._ He always called her Sammi.

"Come here."

The words were still hard, but there was also a gentleness to them. She swallowed and her level of panic lowered slightly. She took a hesitant step toward him, looking at no one but him. She watched as his eyes suddenly, sharply shifted to her right and he held up a hand, pointing a finger at someone past her shoulder. "Don't even fucking think about it," he said quietly, his voice dangerous and full of warning. She didn't want to know the reason for his threat.

He looked at her again, and held his hand out to her. "Come here," he repeated, his voice taking on that hard and gentle quality again. "Come on."

Her eyes fixed on his hand, her thudding heart beating erratically in her chest as she shuffled her feet forward off of pure desire. When she was close enough, she stiffly reached out and grabbed his hand, and then he was moving her quickly in front of him, turning her and himself so that she was in front of him and his back was to the group. The hand that held hers squeezed around it while his other landed on the small of her back and she looked up at him. He was glaring murderously over his shoulder but leading her out into the street toward a vehicle. He opened the door for her. "Get in," he said, and he looked down at her, his eyes still hard but full of questions that she didn't want to supply answers for. She climbed into the passenger seat wordlessly, her bag on her lap, and she clutched herself, trying to make her trembling subside. She didn't look at him, but she also didn't miss the look Tommy exchanged with Brendan in the backseat. As Tommy started the car and pulled off, she fumbled through her bag for her meds. She located the amber bottle but didn't pull it out, miraculously managing to get the top off and two pills in her palm without much trouble, keeping her hands concealed inside her bag. She knew he'd notice, but she brought her shaking hand to her mouth quickly and tossed the pills in, gulping them down without water.

"What's that?" he asked immediately, suspicion evident in his voice.

"Aspirin," she lied quickly, and she knew he knew she was lying, but he gave it to her anyway.

They drove toward Bloomfield in silence, as Sammi waited for her nerves to soothe. When she felt somewhat in control of herself again, she glanced at him.

"You called me Sam," she said.

He didn't take his eyes off the road, but she saw confusion crease his brow. "Yeah?" he replied.

"You never call me Sam," she said, echoing her thoughts from earlier. "You always call me Sammi."

He clearly didn't know where she was going with it, if anywhere. And truthfully, she _wasn't_ going anywhere with it; she thought it best if she speak first so he couldn't ask her the questions she knew he had.

"I thought that was your name," he said, gently sarcastic. "Would you prefer Samantha next time?"

She allowed a tiny smile. "No. Because _that_ would actually _not _be my name. It's just Sam. I actually hate it when people call me Samantha."

He snorted quietly. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Where am I going?"

Sammi guided him through the neighborhood to her apartment, which was about a mile from the café. She reached for the door handle and turned to him, intending to thank him for the ride, and saw that he was taking his seat belt off and opening his own door.

"I'll walk you to your door," he said in a tone that offered no option for refusing him.

She glanced over her shoulder at Bren, who had been silent the entire ride and whose head was lying against the seat, eyes closed.

"Good night," she said softly. "It was nice to meet you." She wasn't expecting a reply, assuming he was knocked out, and she jumped a little when she heard his voice reply back to her, completely awake and almost sober-sounding.

"Good night, and nice to meet you, too," he offered back. "Hope to see you again soon."

She wasn't sure how to reply so she merely nodded and hopped out of the car, Tommy holding her door open. He pushed it closed and followed behind her as she led the way into the building and up to her apartment on the third floor. Her stomach clenched with stress. _Now he knows where you live_, she thought. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She never wanted anyone but Bunz to know where she lived. Her family obviously knew, being that her parents owned the building, but outside of them, she was extremely cautious about anyone else knowing. What if Tommy was some sort of psycho, and he was going to follow her inside and do unspeakably horrible things to her? _Like in New York_, she thought, and her heart tightened with stress again.

But when she reached her door, and turned around, she noticed that he was at least three paces behind her and studying the carpeted floor. When he'd realized that she had come to a stop, he looked up, meeting her eyes that she knew were wide with a mixture of fear, expectation and uncertainty. He took a few ambling steps toward her, his hands in his pockets, and as she studied him, she noticed for the first time how good he looked. She was used to seeing him in sweats, athletic clothing, with either a skullcap or a hat on his head, or his hair damp and matted from sweat. But tonight, he was wearing a long-sleeved black sweater that looked light and soft and clung to his body just right, a nice pair of jeans and dark shoes. He even had a little product in his normally messy hair, and now he was close enough for her to smell his spicy cologne. She sucked in a breath, louder than she meant to as his gaze locked onto hers. They studied each other's faces for what felt like an eternity, and her heart kicked into another level of irregularity when his eyes dropped to her lips, his tongue flicking out between his own to moisten them.

_Oh, shit_, she thought, panicked. _Oh, fuck. Kiss me don't kiss me. Kiss me don't kiss me. Kiss me don't….._

Her arms involuntarily rose and she hugged her bag to her chest, pressing her back against her door. The action was completely independent of her conscious thought, and he didn't miss it, his eyes going over her quickly.

"Better go on in," he finally said, dropping his eyes. His hands never left his pockets and he subtly retreated a step. She gulped, feeling relief flooding through her, mixed with a strange twinge of disappointment.

"Thanks for the ride," she squeaked, turning to grab for the handle.

"Sure," he replied. "Good night."

"Good night," she responded without looking at him, and rushed inside. She shut and triple-locked her door, then collapsed against it. She felt anxiety flooding through her again, but this time, it wasn't due to paralyzing fear; the reason for it was completely different altogether and in fact, the reason was walking down the hall out of her building.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Tommy leaned back in his desk chair on Monday evening, yawning deeply and rubbing his hands over his face. It had been a long day. Between endless paperwork, the computers crashing and a fight breaking out, he was already drained. Despite his physical tiredness, he knew he still had work to do. He'd managed to fit some training in today, but now the long-promised women's self-defense course was coming to the forefront. He'd put out a survey among the gym members and their families simply to gauge interest, and the response had been overwhelming. There were a few more female members at the gym now, and most of them had indicated that the course was something they'd like to participate in. He also had decided to make the course available to the wives/sisters/mothers/girlfriends of the male clientele, and by his count so far, he could plan on having at least fifty participants.

He began creating the agenda for the course as it started to take shape in his mind. He knew if he didn't write it down now, he'd likely forget it later. As he mulled over his paper, tapping his pencil against the desktop, he decided it would need to be a two-day weekend event. The first part of the first day would be spent "in the classroom" – teaching women about situational awareness, going over local case studies of violence against women, statistics, and things like that. The rest of the day would be spent learning basic self-defense moves with a little sparring. The first half of the second day would be spent learning more advanced techniques with sparring, and the "final test" would be each woman facing off with him or any of the male volunteers he was putting feelers out for and spar. The object was for the woman to successfully get away from the attacker using the techniques they had learned. With the amount of participants, he knew he'd need at least five, preferably ten, male volunteers to help. He quickly jotted down several names that immediately came to him, including his brother's and his brother's trainer's, and returned his attention to the actual techniques, writing down several different moves that struck him. He knew that he'd need to go back over this list with someone and actually try out the moves, adjusting them to make sure they fit within the scheme of a women's self-defense course and could be easily picked up, perfected and applied. But for now, his list was coming along nicely.

As he glanced over his notes and rough outline of the agenda, he was pleased; it was taking shape, aligning with his original vision, and he'd have plenty of great things to share with the participants. His eyes shifted over to the calendar. He needed to set a date, but it obviously needed to be after Ithaca. He penciled in a few tentative dates toward the end of April into early May, satisfied that he'd have plenty of time to iron out all the details and get a solid agenda together.

He yawned again and reached for his bottle of water, taking a healthy pull as he glanced at the clock. He started in surprise. He hadn't realized working on the agenda for the self-defense course had taken as long as it had; it was nearly closing time.

At that moment, as if reading his mind, Fen stuck his head in the office. "Closin' time, boss," he announced. "Got all the equipment sanitized, most of the clients have left. All except Carnevale." Ever since Sammi had corrected him, he made a point to exaggerate the pronunciation of her name.

Tommy's ears perked up. "She came tonight?"

Fen shrugged. "As always. That surprise you?" His eyes narrowed as he examined Tommy's face. "Everything cool after the bar?"

Fen and Leon had both left early, so they hadn't witnessed the scene outside the bar. Tommy averted his eyes and rose from his desk, gathering his jacket, gym bag, keys and water bottle. He shrugged. "It was fine."

"C'mon, man," Fen said, standing to the side to let Tommy pass through the door. "What happened? I can tell something's up."

Tommy hesitated. He didn't want to tell Fen too much; whatever was going on with Sammi wasn't anyone's business but hers and he didn't want to give his brash friend any fodder to potentially torture her with. Fen had a habit of thinking he was funny when no one else did.

"Some drunk guys gave her a hard time," Tommy said lightly. "She's fine though."

"Oh, save the day, did you?" Fen chortled as they headed into the gym.

"Not at all," Tommy replied. "Anyway, shut up about it in front of her."

Fen just shook his head and laughed. "Everything look good, man?" he asked, sweeping his arm over the expanse of the gym. Tommy knew what he was really asking was if he could go home.

Tommy glanced around then waved him off. "Yeah. Go home."

As Fen left, Tommy crossed the gym, rounding the corner of the ring in the middle of the room. He could hear the steady _thump_ of Sammi's fists on the bag. He had spent quite a bit of time since Saturday feeling confused; his interest was more than piqued by the way she'd reacted to the drunk guys outside the bar. He knew he had witnessed her having some sort of anxiety attack, and it reminded him of the Marines he'd fought beside – to him, all signs pointed to her suffering from PTSD. But what the PTSD could be a result of, he had no idea. He wanted to know, but he was also a huge fan of people minding their own business. If Sammi wanted him to know…she'd let him know.

As he came upon her, he noticed that she was beating the bag with new intensity, her arms quivering with fatigue. Her sharp exhales of breath had turned to grunts. She was overdoing it and risking injury. He leaned into her vision like he always did, to not startle her as much. Her eyes immediately shifted to him, and he saw fire and anger snapping in the deep, chocolate brown depths. She dropped her arms, still staring into his eyes and stood still, her chest heaving.

He swallowed, unsure of what to say. He hadn't seen her look like this before. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You all right?"

Abruptly, she yanked her headphones off her head and dropped her mitts to the ground. "Fine."

Tommy didn't know everything there was to know about women, but what little he did know told him that she was actually completely opposite of the answer she'd supplied. He sensed that rebutting her or probing further would likely make things worse, so he left it alone.

"Hey," he said, switching gears. She glanced up at him, one of her brows raised questioningly. Curiosity pushed the fire out of her eyes and he was glad to see it. "I need your help."

"_My _help?" she repeated, the other brow joining the first. "What could you possibly need my help with?"

"Well, it's something you already shot me down for," he said, folding his arms. "I finally have a plan worked out for the women's self-defense course. Now that you know I'm not a total piece of shit, maybe you'll be willing to help me work the moves out."

She shrugged. "Why can't you use Fen or Leon or someone?"

"I need a female body," he replied bluntly. A second later, he heard in his head how it must have sounded and shook his head as Sammi hid a grin. "Not like that, smart ass. The course is designed for women; I need to make sure that it works with a woman's body, that the moves aren't too advanced for beginners and what not." He saw her hesitation. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I've sparred before," she began. "In New York with my trainer. But that was like, boxing type stuff and we didn't do that very often. I'm not sure how well I'd fare with self-defense stuff."

"It's not totally unlike boxing," Tommy said with a shrug. "There are just other elements." He paused, studying her face as she studied her hands. "You would really be helping me out."

Finally, she sighed and lifted her head, nodding. "All right. I suppose I owe you a favor, anyway."

He had planned on _not _referencing Saturday night's events, for her comfort, and he'd expected that she wouldn't either. But now, her veiled reference served to almost put them at ease with each other. She smiled uncertainly at him, as though she wasn't sure how he'd receive her comment.

He waved a hand. "No big deal," he said. "Let's go to the ring."

He hopped up into the ring and pulled the ropes back slightly as she hopped up beside him, stepping delicately through the ropes. She stood with her back to them, hugging herself as he moved into the center of the ring.

"All right," he said. "Come here. I'm going to show you how to hit angles." Sammi stepped toward him uncertainly, still hugging herself. He smirked and reached out, pulling gently at one of her arms. "You have to put your arms down. Stand like this." He showed her a proper, basic fighting stance and she mimicked him.

"Now. I want you come toward my shoulder. When you get there, you're going to take your hands and push off, throwing me to the side. This is effective for when an attacker is coming at you head-on. You hit your angle, shove him away, and run. Got it?" He demonstrated slowly against her, turning his body away from her slightly, stepping up to her side, and using his hands to push at her shoulder, sending her stumbling back several steps as he moved away. She nodded, and he resumed his place in the center of the ring, facing her head on. "All right. I'm going to stand still. You hit my angle on both sides." Sammi demonstrated, and he nodded his approval. "That was good. Easy?"

"Yes," she replied. "Easy."

They practiced that several more times, before Tommy showed her how to take it to the next level if staying and fighting was the only option. He showed her how to reach up and grab an assailant by the back of the head and bring the head down, to ram it with the knee. He fetched a padded helmet with a front cover guard on it and told her to go to town.

"Really go for it," he said. "You won't hurt me."

Sammi hit her angle and then whirled to the side, grasping the back of his head and yanking it down, while bringing her knee up to the front of his helmet. He was pleased that she'd caught on so quickly. He made her do it over and over, then practiced both moves together until he was satisfied with her progress. Next, he took her through some exercises to show her how to block strikes, how important it was to watch an opponent's shoulders and not their eyes, to be able to gauge from where they were going to throw their next punch.

"Now, I want to show you how to get out of a hold," Tommy announced a while later. He was starting to work up a sweat, and Sammi was finally starting to loosen up. She genuinely seemed to be enjoying herself, and he could tell she was growing more and more empowered with every new thing he taught her. Which was precisely the goal of the course – to empower women to be able to take care of themselves in a hairy situation.

"There's a couple ways you can go about this," he added. He moved in front of Sammi, giving her his back. "All right. Put me in a hold." He stood, waiting, and after a moment glanced over his shoulder. Sammi was flushing slightly as she stared at his back. "What's the problem?" he asked.

"Huh?" Sammi's head snapped up, meeting his gaze.

"What's the problem? Grab me."

"Uh, yeah," she muttered. "Right." Her arms slid around him gingerly. He bit back a smile and shook his head.

"Sammi. Grab me like you mean it. This won't work otherwise."

He heard her sigh and her arms tightened around him noticeably. He wiggled slightly, testing the strength of her grasp, and was satisfied it would work to demonstrate on her.

"All right," he said over his shoulder. "Say someone comes up behind you and pins your arms to your sides, and you can't get out. What you should do is swing one of your legs in a giant step behind both of you, plant it right behind their leg, and throw your hip to put them off-balance. Then you can start throwing elbows, breaking the hold, getting away. Sometimes it might be a little bit more of a fight if they're not willing to let you go. You can try twisting out of their grasp like this." He showed her, and she nodded. "Let's try it again."

She repositioned her arms, and he executed the move. Then, in a flash of mischievousness he couldn't help, he grabbed her around the waist once she was off-balance, lifted her and slammed her on her back on the mat. He leaned over her and grinned as her eyes went wide and the air rushed out of her lungs from the impact with a breathless laugh.

"Sorry," he said. "I couldn't resist." He hopped to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. She ignored it and rolled to her feet.

"You know I'm going to find a way to get you back for that," she said. "I don't know how. But it's going to happen."

Tommy afforded her a rare, full-mouthed grin. "Sure. Whatever you say." He motioned her into the center of the ring. "All right. Now you show me." He stepped up behind her and was momentarily distracted by her smell; it was a combination of her shampoo, the lingering perfume on her skin, and her sweat. It was intoxicating and heady, and he realized as he took a deep breath how much he liked it. He slowly slipped his arms around her, tightening his hold, and swallowed as, for the first time, he realized that she was pressed against his body. It had been different when he was in "teacher" mode; now, he was all too aware of the feeling of her skin against his, how her small body felt in his arms, the feeling of her rounded, curvy rear end pressing into the tops of his thighs.

_Fuck_, he thought, instantly forcing the thought from his mind as one of his body parts below the waist began to stir. _Teacher mode. Secure that shit, Conlon._

When Sammi felt his arms tighten around her, she swung her leg back behind his like he'd showed her and moved her hips hard, and Tommy instantly felt himself lose his balance. He felt a sharp elbow dig into his ribs and the air expelled from his lungs. The next thing he knew, he had fallen over on his ass after a hard shove to his chest and Sammi loped around the ring, laughing at him openly.

He mock-glared at her as he got to his feet, but couldn't fight another smirk. "All right," he said, rubbing his torso where she'd elbowed him. "We're even. Well done."

Sammi smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders modestly.

"We're going to do that once more, but this time, I want it to be as real as possible. So you're not going to know when I grab you, and I'm going to really grab you hard. We need to make this as realistic as possible. Okay?"

Sammi gave him one nod and turned again, so her back was to him. Tommy stood a few paces behind her, and waited. He watched as her body tensed up as the moments went on, saw her head involuntarily move slightly as though she tried to look over her shoulder, but caught herself. He let her stand there a few more minutes, then he silently, quickly, darted forward and grabbed her.

He heard her gasp audibly, and her body immediately tensed and began to thrash. He didn't say a word but held on, mentally urging her to move into action. Suddenly, he felt her body go limp in his arms and the sound of her rapid breathing filled their small space. One of his forearms was over her chest, and he could feel her pulse take off in a rapid pace.

_Shit,_ he thought. Out loud, he said, "Sammi!"

She would have sunk to the floor of the ring if he hadn't been holding her. Her breathing was starting to freak him out, so he lowered them both to the floor. He sank to his knees as she sprawled in front of him, her back still pressed against him. He fumbled one hand to her face, gripping her cheek to turn her around to face him. He sucked in a breath, seeing her eyes wide and unseeing of him; that horrible, deep-rooted fear filled them. He gently shook her. "Sam," he said louder, more gruffly.

As it had outside the lounge, speaking her name that way drew her attention and her eyes shifted to him, blinking slowly. Her breathing was still heavy and increased, almost like she was having an asthma attack.

"Meds," she rasped out. "Bag."

He let her go gently, then scrambled out of the ring to where her gym bag was still on the floor next to her favorite punching bag. He grabbed the whole bag and hurried back to the ring. He slid the bag over to her hard before launching himself after it and moving to her side. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't grasp the zipper. Finally, he took it from her and opened it.

"Where?" he asked quietly.

"Inner pocket," she whispered back, her entire body shaking now. He found the pocket and unzipped it, immediately locating the small, round amber bottle that was all too familiar to him. He handed it over, realizing his dumb mistake when her hands trembled over the lid. He took the bottle back from her and glanced at the label. He inwardly shook his head as he recognized the label for an anti-anxiety medication. He read the dosage and poured out two pills into his palm and gave them to her, along with his water bottle.

He didn't watch as she gulped the pills and water down. He knew he had been against it before, but the urge to ask for answers was strong on his tongue and he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from barraging her with questions. They sat quietly and he listened as her breathing slowed and regulated itself. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and saw that her shaking had mostly subsided and she sat, hugging her knees to her chest as she tried to hand him back his bottle of water. He noticed she had only taken enough to swallow down the pills and he shook his head, waving the bottle back to her.

"You drink it," he said. "You should drink more than that."

She didn't meet his eyes as she drained the rest of the bottle, though he sensed she knew he was watching her. There was a look of almost guilt on her face, as though she knew he had a million questions and she didn't want to answer any of them.

"Sam…" he began finally, and her head snapped up. She met his eyes and he saw that hers were naked with emotion.

"Please," she said softly. "Please don't ask me anything. Not right now." She swallowed hard. "I – I know I owe you an explanation. But I can't right now. I just can't."

He studied her face and frowned slightly. "I want to know what's up with you," he said slowly. "But I don't want to make you feel any worse than you do right now. I just – if you're goin' through something, I might be able to help you. I'm as fucked up as they come," he added lightly, and was pleased to see a tiny smile cross her face. He noted that she still hugged her knees, but she seemed to have stopped shaking. He got to his feet and extended his hand again. She looked at it, then up at him. Hesitantly, she reached out and grabbed it. He pulled her easily to her feet and looked down into her face.

"You hungry?" he asked.

She looked a little taken aback and glanced at her watch. She looked back up at him and smiled uncertainly.

"Tommy, it's, like, midnight," she said.

He shrugged. "So what? You hungry?"

Her smile grew slightly and she shrugged. "Sure."

"There's a place down the street that makes the best cheesesteaks you've ever had," he said. "My treat."

She studied his face a moment longer then nodded. "Okay. Let me go get my stuff."

He waited by the door for her, and she reappeared a little later, wearing a large zip-up hooded sweatshirt over her black yoga pants and sneakers, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. They walked down the street in a comfortable silence, although Tommy's mind was still whirling from her "episode" in the ring. It was clear she had undergone something completely traumatic; it had been clear from the night he'd witnessed her attack at the gym. He had a sneaking suspicion of what might have happened to her, and he sincerely hoped he was mistaken. He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye and couldn't help noticing how different she looked than she had at Cliff's. There, she had looked like a star, a model or something. Now, she was back to her normal self. She was possibly even more beautiful and appealing to him stripped down this way; a clean, bare face, her long dark hair in a ponytail, workout clothes. He felt like he was really seeing _her_.

"There it is," he said presently, pointing to a little corner restaurant. "They're always open late." He held the door open for her and she walked past, giving him a nod of thanks.

"Isn't this against your training diet?" she asked, folding her arms and scanning the menus on the wall behind the counter.

"I won't tell if you won't," Tommy replied. "Do you know what you want?"

"I'll have what you're having," Sammi replied.

Tommy stepped up to the counter. "Two, whiz, with," he said quickly, and the cook nodded and set to making their sandwiches.

"Does this really count since we're in Pittsburgh?" Sammi asked with a smirk.

"Absolutely," Tommy replied. "Everybody in PA takes their cheesesteaks seriously. Everybody."

When their orders were up, Tommy stepped up to the counter to get them and handed Sammi one of the cardboard trays overflowing with sandwich and moved toward the row of countertops against the front window. They took stools and Tommy glanced over at her, seeing her examining her sandwich crammed with thinly sliced rib-eye, cheese whiz, and grilled onions. She looked up with a smile.

"Looks good," she said. "Looks like you did it right." She picked up her sandwich and took an enormous bite as Tommy glared at her playfully.

"I did it right?" he repeated. "Excuse you?"

"Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing," Sammi said around her mouthful.

"I think I'm the native here," he shot back. She shrugged and chewed. "Fuckin' New Yorkers," he teased, taking his own bite. They ate for a while in silence and Tommy enjoyed watching her appreciate her sandwich. He'd always liked a healthy appetite in a woman.

"It's good?" he asked after a moment. Sammi gave an enthusiastic nod, unable to speak due to the monstrous bite she'd just taken.

She swallowed. "Possibly the best thing I've eaten here besides my mother's cooking."

"Your mom's a good cook?" he asked, thinking of his own mother. Before she'd gotten sick, she'd decided she wanted to get into cooking. Tommy smiled inwardly at the memory of her awful meals that he'd eaten and pretended to like to preserve her feelings.

"The best," Sammi replied, pulling a piece of bread off her sandwich and swiping up a bit of cheese whiz. "She grew up in my _Nonna_'s kitchen. Sunday dinner is a staple in our family and she always makes enough for an army. Although, there's _almost _that many people in her and my father's apartment every Sunday."

"You got a big family?" Tommy asked.

"Pretty big," Sammi replied. "I have two older sisters. They're both married and have two kids apiece. Then there's Uncle Gino. So it's pretty crowded in there." She smiled. "But that's what makes it so much fun."

"You close to your sisters?"

Sammi nodded. "Very close. My oldest sister, Nik, is thirty-two. My older sister Toni is thirty. I'm the baby at twenty-seven. Being that close in age, we've always been close. Had a lot fights growing up," she added, "but we've always been close."

"Sam…Nik…and Toni," Tommy repeated with a chuckle.

Sammi laughed too. "My dad, he always knew he was going to have boys. No girls. Well, when Nik was born, he decided to name her after his own father anyway because he didn't want the name to go to waste. Then when Toni came along, he decided he didn't want his grandfather's name to go to waste either, so he named her that anyway. Then when _I _came along, he gave up on the idea of boys and gave me my mother's father's name." She shrugged and smiled. "What's funny is that our names aren't short for anything. Nik is named after my grandfather Dominic, but everyone called him Nic for short. Same thing with Toni and me. My mother insisted on 'feminine' spellings if we were going to have boys' names."

Tommy chuckled again. "That's pretty funny. The three o' you sound like a bunch of 'wise guys'."

"Nik and Toni definitely act like it sometimes," Sammi agreed. "Their poor husbands."

"So your whole family lives in Pittsburgh now?" he asked.

"Yes," Sammi replied. "We were all born and raised in New York. Toni came out here with her husband first. The rest of us were in New York. Then when we came out here, Nik joined a law firm and her husband's a doctor. So they were able to get jobs relatively easy. My parents invested in the apartment complex and then the bakery. They always wanted a couple family businesses."

"And what about you?"

"Me?" Sammi replied. "Well. I already told you I was a dancer. I want to open my own studio one day. I'm getting closer. Not having to pay rent helps, living in the family building. Just saving my money. There's a spot downtown, an old studio that hasn't been claimed yet. That's what I really want. I'm saving enough money until the bank will grant me the loan for the space. They won't give me the whole amount so I have to have enough for a down payment. I'm just scared someone will snap it up before me."

"I hope you get it," Tommy said sincerely. "Teaching dance at the Y getting old?"

"Thanks," Sammi replied quietly, smiling at him slightly. "And I love teaching at the Y. I just wish it was _my _place. But at least this way, I have a rehearsal space for myself instead of my living room."

"Rehearsal space?" Tommy repeated.

Sammi rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled still. "My friend Bunz, she forced me to enter this talent showcase. It's a community thing, they want all kinds of artists, musicians, poets, dancers. I haven't danced in front of a crowd in _years_. But it's coming up in a couple months, so I've been using my studio space at the Y to work on it. She doesn't know that yet though, I don't want her getting all excited. I might back out."

"Don't do that," Tommy said automatically. "Don't back out. You should do it. I'd like to see it."

Sammi gaped at him. "_You_ want to see _me _dance?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Why not? I bet you're really talented. People without talent don't usually grow up and want to have their own dance studios."

Sammi smiled down at her sandwich. "Well. Thank you. I don't know if you'll ever get to see me dance, but the fact that you want to is nice."

Tommy cleared his throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He cast about for another question. "So what made your family want to move from New York?" he asked, and immediately he saw her face change. She didn't answer right away. "Sammi?"

She pushed the remains of her sandwich away as though she'd lost her appetite. He knew immediately that it had something to do with her present state, and he held his breath, wondering if she would come clean with him finally.

Presently, she heaved a heavy sigh and looked out the window. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and began to worry it. Tommy sat patiently, pushing his own sandwich away, waiting for her to speak.

She finally turned her eyes to meet his, and he saw on her face that she understood he knew by now that the two were connected, and that he knew there was something really wrong with her.

"Something – happened to me," she started softly, dropping her eyes. "In New York. Something bad. And while I recovered from it physically, I really had a hard time with it mentally, emotionally. I went to therapy for my mind like I went to therapy for my body, but I made progress with one and not the other. My parents decided that I needed a change of scenery, and made the decision to move out here with Toni and her husband. And because we're as close as we are, Nik and her husband came too so we could all be together again."

"That was nice of them," Tommy said evenly. He wanted so badly to ask her _what _happened, but he sensed that might be too much for her.

As though she could sense his next question, she quickly reached out for their trash and gathered it up, sliding off her stool. "It's getting late," she said, dumping their trash into the receptacle. "I better go before the buses stop running."

Tommy decided not to point out that it would be hours and hours before that happened, but merely nodded, rising from his stool and pushing the door open for her. He appreciated her opening up so much to him, but all it did was make him even more curious. He walked her to the bus stop and waited with her. They were silent but he could feel her looking up at him anxiously over and over. He glanced back down at her finally and gave her a half-smile.

When her bus arrived, she was surprised when he climbed aboard after her and dropped into the seat next to her.

"You take this bus?" she asked, almost nervously.

He shook his head. "Nah. I take the other bus. I just want to make sure you get home ok. I'm not stalkin' you, I promise."

She seemed genuinely astonished. "I'm not sure where you live, but it'll take you almost two hours to get home with the way these buses run…You don't have to do this. You should go home. It's late and I'm sure you've had a long day."

"It's not a problem," he replied simply, and effectively ended her protests. He stared ahead during the ride while she opted to look out the window, but he saw in the large rearview mirror at the head of the bus that she turned to look at him a few different times.

When they finally reached her neighborhood, he walked beside her quietly down the street to her building. The streets were peacefully quiet, but he knew it wasn't particularly safe for any woman to be walking by herself so late at night. He followed her to the entrance of the building, silently insisting on walking her to her door again. When they reached her front door, she turned to face him.

"Well," she began, playing with her keys. "Um. Thank you, Tommy. For dinner, for seeing me home. For…helping me out."

He looked down into her face and felt his insides working strangely. He felt a tingling heat in his chest and adrenaline creeping through him. It was all a very foreign feeling to him, but not altogether unpleasant.

"You're welcome," he replied. He jammed his hands into his pockets and took a step back, preparing to wish her a good night and beat his retreat, but he started in surprise when he felt her small hand reach out and take hold of his forearm. His eyes flew to her face as she stepped closer, and he froze when he felt her arms go around his torso tentatively. He was shocked, mostly because he'd picked up that she had a thing with personal space, but she was hugging him. Then he shook himself and slipped his arms around her in return. He felt her cheek press into his chest and he hoped she couldn't tell his heart was beating erratically.

He wondered if _he _was making her comfortable with physical closeness, or if she was trying to repay him for the night, or what her motivation was. His mind whirled in confusion when he felt her give him a tiny squeeze before stepping back. She met his eyes, her own bold but shy. She dropped her arms and his hands found his pockets again as he cleared his throat and flushed slightly.

"Good night," she said softly. He nodded wordlessly, unable to form words, but waited in the hallway until he heard her locks slide into place.

He headed down the stairs and out of her building, heading back to the bus stop. He leaned against the shelter and sighed deeply, feeling a strange, alien emotion creeping through him. It was confusing, disarming, and uncomfortable. As he inhaled and her scent lingered in his nose, he realized it was also amazing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Tommy arrived at the gym early the next morning as he always did to get in some training before opening for business. He also made a habit of making a circuit of the gym to ensure that everything was as he left it from the night before and there hadn't been any break-ins or anything else untoward that had gone down.

As he rounded the corner of the ring past the punching bags, he noticed a small object in the center of the ring. As he got closer, he saw that it was Sammi's small prescription bottle of medication. He stepped into the ring and leaned down to scoop it up.

"Shit," he muttered. How had they overlooked that last night? What if something happened to her during the day and she needed them?

He glanced at his watch. It was six-thirty. He figured she _might _be up this early, but he wasn't sure. He shuffled back to his office and pulled out her file. He dialed the phone number she had listed, but received an automated message that the number he'd dialed was no longer in service.

"Well, shit," he grumbled to himself and tossed his cellphone on the desk. How had getting her phone number escaped him over the past several weeks? He'd have to try and drop them off to her later today; he just hoped she wouldn't need them until then. He figured that if she had an emergency, she would call the gym to check to see if she'd left them there. He decided he'd try to leave at lunchtime and drop them off to her at the café.

:O:O:O:

The day proved to be extremely busy, and his original plan of slipping out during lunch time to drop off Sammi's medication went out the window. It seemed that his schedule of private lessons and training had grown exponentially, and he found himself dealing with client after client. He barely had time to stop for a meal himself. However, Sammi hadn't called about her medication, so he assumed she was okay for the time being.

He finally left around six and headed for Bloomfield. He figured his first stop should be the café. He wasn't sure what time she usually got off or what time they closed but it seemed like a logical place to start.

When he arrived and pushed through the door, he saw that it was as empty as it had been the last time he'd visited, but this emptiness felt like a "getting ready to close" emptiness versus a midday lull. The bell over the door tinkled and after a moment, Bunz came out from the back.

"Oh, hi," she said. "Sorry. I should have locked the door – we're pretty much closed up for the night." She gestured behind her to the disassembled espresso machines with their various parts spread neatly on towels on the counter, freshly cleaned and drying. "I can't make you a drink or anything."

"No, that's ok," Tommy said quickly. "I was wondering if Sammi was around?" He pulled the medication bottle from his pocket and held it up. "She left these at the gym last night. I wanted to get them back to her earlier, but the gym was crazy today."

"Oh," Bunz replied, fixing her gaze on the bottle. She met Tommy's eyes and a look of understanding passed between them. "Well. No, she's not here. She left a little early to go drop off the deposit at the bank, then she said she was going to the Y."

"She doesn't teach tonight," Tommy said, but it came out like a question. "I thought she taught on Wednesdays."

"She does," Bunz confirmed. "She went to work on her piece for the showcase. I know she thinks I don't know she's working on something, but I do. Anyway, she seemed a little stressed out today and said she was going straight to the Y after the bank. You can probably find her there."

"I can just leave these here with you," Tommy offered.

"Or you can take them to her at the Y," Bunz said pointedly, smirking. "Just call her and let her know you're coming."

"I don't have her number," Tommy replied.

"Haven't you escorted her home like, twice now? And she's at your gym every night," Bunz pointed out, leaning on the counter.

Tommy shrugged helplessly. Bunz shook her head and withdrew a piece of paper from underneath the register, jotting a number down and then slid the scrap over the counter across to him.

"Won't she mind that you're giving out her number?" Tommy asked, taking the scrap and tucking it into his pocket.

Bunz shrugged. "It's not like you're a perfect stranger," she said. "And frankly, I don't care what she wants. _I _want you to have her number." She smiled pleasantly.

Tommy smirked back at her and nodded. He turned to go then stopped and looked back at Bunz. "She say why she was stressed out?"

Bunz studied him knowingly. Tommy got the feeling that she knew everything about him and Sammi. "Well, a number of reasons, I'm sure. I understand she had a bit of a late night last night." She lifted a brow at him before continuing. "She got some mail she wasn't particularly happy with but wouldn't tell me what it was. And, she's upset that her favorite ballet is coming into town and she can't go see it."

"What ballet?" Tommy asked. "Why can't she go? She working?"

"Tickets are just really expensive and she can't afford it," Bunz said. "_I _would have loved to get her tickets but I'm just a broke college student."

"She said you paid for her entry fee for the showcase, by the way," Tommy said. "Good work."

Bunz smiled. "Yes, well. I knew she never would have done it if I hadn't. But that was most of my free money, so now I'm reduced to eating Ramen again." She shrugged negligently, but he could tell she wasn't being serious.

"You seem like a good friend," he replied. "Well. I guess I'll go look for her at the Y, then." He turned and headed for the door, then turned back, his hand on the knob. "What's the name of that ballet?"

Bunz glanced at him sharply, and smiled with something like approval. "It's called _Giselle_," she answered. "It's next Thursday. At the Benedum. It's at eight o'clock. Oh, and her favorite restaurant is Elements, which is only about a five-minute cab ride from the theater." She smiled so innocently that Tommy couldn't help chuckling.

"Duly noted," he replied. He lifted his hand in a wave. "Thanks."

:O:O:O:

Sammi was breathing hard, sweating, and glaring at her reflection in the long mirror that covered an entire wall of the studio. She stalked over to the stereo system encased in a small wooden entertainment center to restart her song.

She had several ideas for her showcase piece, but when she started a new project, she liked to let a few different songs move her to see what struck her. She'd been working on this latest piece for almost an hour, just letting her body and training take over, pushing her conscious thought process to the back.

The opening strains of "Ride" by Lana Del Rey seeped out from the machine and Sammi stood still for a moment, her eyes closed. As the singer's haunting, melodic voice flowed around her, Sammi began to move, her eyes still closed. She let the notes, the voice, the melody control her movements as she moved around the room. Her muscles strained from fatigue, but she refused to be tired. She pointed her toes sharply, her thigh muscles aching as she forced her legs straight up in controlled _grande battements_, her calves tensing as she pushed up _en pointe_, turning _pirouettes_ and _fouettes_. The emotional words flooded through her body; the song was melancholy, the singer begging a lover not to leave her as she sought her own freedom on the open road. As the music and lyrics reached its climax, Sammi leapt through the air, each leg extending sharply in front of and behind her.

"_I'm tired of feelin' like I'm fuckin' crazy/I'm tired of drivin' 'til I see stars in my eyes/I look up to hear myself saying baby/Too much I strive/I just ride."_

For a moment Sammi's conscious mind left her although her eyes opened to watch herself in the mirror. Her dance was strong, emotional; she hadn't danced like this in a long time and she observed her own body, lost to the control of her muscles and emotion and training, moving to a song that evoked great emotion within her. It was nothing she'd rehearsed or worked out prior to this exact moment. She was just moving but it made sense; she was telling a story with her body. Her story.

As the song ended and she came to a gradual stop, she was amazed to see that she was crying. She studied her reflection in the mirror, seeing her eyes glistening with tears. One slipped down her cheek as she stared at herself, her chest heaving from her exertion but strangely, she didn't feel tired at all anymore.

A movement reflected in the mirror caught her eye, from behind the window that peeked into the studio. She whirled around and was shocked to see Tommy standing in the window, watching her with something like amazement on his face. She quickly brushed the backs of her hands over her cheeks and moved to the door, pulling it open. She was embarrassed; she typically never danced for anyone except her students, and even then, it was just exercises, techniques and easy recital dances. No one she knew personally had ever seen her dance with true emotion and passion like this for a _long_ time, and it made her slightly uncomfortable. Moreover, she couldn't recall a time where she spontaneously, unconsciously began crying during her dancing.

"Hey," she said uncertainly, praying all traces of tears were gone from her face. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to bring you your meds," he replied, pulling the bottle out of his pocket and holding it out. "You left them at the gym last night."

Her eyes widened as she took the bottle. How could she be so irresponsible? _You're lucky nothing really happened today,_ she chastised herself. She nodded up at him.

"Thanks," she said softly. "You came all the way out here just to drop off my medication?"

"I didn't know if you'd need them or not," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Sammi was touched, and again felt amazement at how nice and thoughtful he could be.

"Listen," he started, staring into her studio. "I don't know anything about your craft. Dance isn't something I've ever been into before, or ever had a reason to pay attention to. But that, what you just did in there – that was…good. Really fucking good." His cloudy blue eyes met hers and were filled with genuine appreciation and he gave her a half-smile. "I think you just made a believer out of me."

Sammi smiled, his compliment making her feel humbled and touched. "Thanks," she replied quietly. "That really means a lot to me." She held up the medication bottle. "And this. I can't believe that you came out here to bring it to me." Tommy shrugged and averted his eyes.

"No big deal," he said.

"Are you heading back to the gym?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tommy answered. "Eventually. I feel like I practically live there. It's nice to get out once in a while."

"Well," Sammi said. "If you're not in a huge hurry, do you want to grab some frozen yogurt? I owe you for the sandwiches and now for bringing my meds. My sister is picking me up in about forty-five minutes, so, maybe you could wait with me?"

He glanced down at her. "You don't owe me for anything," he said, "but yes. I'll wait with you."

"Okay. Let me grab my things." Sammi turned and reentered the studio. She quickly crossed the springy wooden floor to the sound system and unhooked her cell phone, from which she played her music, and trotted back over to her coat, bag and shoes lying on the floor underneath the double _barre_ that spanned the length of one wall. She pulled off her dance footies and stepped into a pair of old, woolen and suede boots, tucking in the hem of her black yoga pants, and she quickly threw her vegan leather jacket on over her leotard and ripped T-shirt. She added her scarf and shouldered her bag and exited the studio, turning off the lights as she let the door fall shut behind her. Tommy followed her out of the Y and out into the drizzly evening.

She pulled her scarf over her head and walked down the sidewalk, staying as close to the overhanging awnings over the businesses lining the block as possible. Her favorite yogurt place was just down the block. Tommy sauntered along behind her, his baseball cap pulled low over his face and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. Sammi had a feeling that it had more to do with the many stares of recognition he drew and less with the weather.

"Do you like frozen yogurt?" Sammi asked to be conversational, pushing into the small, brightly lit shop. There were only two other customers there. The scent of sweet yogurt filled her nose.

"Sure," Tommy replied with a shrug. "What's not to like?"

He followed Sammi's example, grabbing a cardboard bowl bearing the company's name and logo around the sides, and moved toward the soft-serve yogurt machines. He opted for a simple, low-fat vanilla and added a little granola and a variety of fresh berries. Sammi gave him a scornful look and filled her cup with her favorite flavor, chocolate peanut butter cup, and proceeded to add chopped Oreos, crumbled Reese's peanut butter cups, raw chocolate chip cookie dough, and a drizzle of chocolate syrup. Tommy couldn't help chuckling. She took his bowl from his hand and set it on the scale at the register along with her own, and pulled her wallet out.

Tommy held out a hand. "Wait a minute, now," he began.

"Hush," Sammi shot back and handed the cashier some cash before taking her change and tucking her wallet away. She removed their bowls and handed Tommy his. "Here's your boring yogurt, sir. I said it was my treat."

Tommy smiled and swirled his spoon around. "Thank you. It would probably look more like yours if I wasn't training," he reminded her. "Trust me, when it comes to food, I hate my life lately."

"I don't blame you," Sammi replied. "Mine is definitely going to be way better than yours." She pushed through the door to head back outside and took a seat on the wooden bench just outside the shop, under the awning. She glanced at Tommy, who was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hunched over his bowl. "Is this okay?" she asked, realizing he might not want to be outside. "Sorry, I was just thinking how much I love the rain and the smell. We can go back inside if you like."

"No, I'm good," Tommy said, taking a spoonful of yogurt. "I like the rain, too." They ate their yogurt in silence for a bit, Sammi enjoying her treat as well as the cool rain and the earthy smelling breeze that accompanied it. Tommy spoke up again.

"You're a hard person to track down," he said lightly.

Sammi pulled out of her reverie and glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"I tried to call you about your meds. The number you listed on your gym application said it was out of service." Tommy swirled a berry in his yogurt before popping his spoon in his mouth.

"Oh, yeah," Sammi said uncomfortably. "That. Well, I haven't had that phone number for a few months now."

"I figured as much," Tommy said and reached into his pocket. "Your girl at the café gave me this." Sammi took the scrap from his fingers and saw that it was her own phone number written out in Bunz's large, bubbly handwriting. "Hope it's ok," Tommy went on. "I promise I'll never call it unless you say it's all right." His lips pulled up in a gently mocking smile.

Sammi returned it. "It's fine," she said. "You should send me a text or something so I have yours, too." She felt awkward saying so; she hadn't discussed exchanging numbers with a guy in a very long time. In fact, she couldn't recall the last time she had done so.

"Your friend also mentioned you've been having a rough day," Tommy added, spooning up some more yogurt. He didn't look at her. "You want to talk about it?"

Sammi sighed and popped a giant spoonful of her concoction into her mouth before answering. No, she really didn't want to talk about it, but she knew her weak story from the other night hadn't really done anything to provide any solid answers; answers she knew that Tommy sort of deserved. She didn't feel like telling him about the official letter she'd received in the mail today. It would only depress her further and bring up a whole round of questions she didn't want to deal with at the present moment.

"Just life, stressing me out," she answered lightly after she swallowed. She felt his eyes on her then and knew he wasn't buying it. "And on top of that, my favorite ballet in the history of the world is coming to town and I can't even go see it."

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy asked, fiddling with his spoon. "What is it? Why can't you go see it?"

Sammi sighed. She knew how trivial it must sound to him, but not being able to go see _Giselle _was truly eating away at her. "It's called _Giselle_. And I wasn't going to go originally because tickets are so _freaking _expensive and I couldn't justify buying something that wasn't a necessity. I've been so good about not spending any extra money on stuff I don't need, so I can get that studio. Then, when I finally decided an hour ago 'to hell with it, I'm going to that ballet,' I called the box office and they said the damn thing is already sold out."

"Sold out? Really?" Tommy asked, glancing over at her. "Tickets to a _ballet?_ In one day?" He caught her expression and bit back his grin. "Sorry. No offense."

"People love their performing arts in this city," she replied, shrugging. Disappointment surged through her anew at the thought that her procrastination had prevented her from being able to go see the ballet.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Tommy said. "I can't really relate but, it's important to you and that sucks."

She half-smiled at his attempt to be comforting. "It's not the end of the world," she said. "At least this way I haven't dipped into my studio fund. Eyes on the prize and all that."

"Right," Tommy said. "So that's it? The ballet?" He held up a hand. "Not that I'm sayin' that's not a big deal. Just wondering if there was anything else on your mind."

Sammi couldn't help a smirk. He was trying so hard to be nice and relate to her disappointment over the ballet. She also didn't miss the way he was prying deeper into her issues, as though he knew something else was up.

_Then again, he did witness you freak out on him last night,_ she thought. _And had to feed you your meds. No wonder he's got questions._

"Samantha!"

The impatient female voice met her ears over the distant sound of traffic and she snapped her head up in annoyance, seeing her older sister, Nik, behind the wheel of her BMW, pulling up to the curb. She was frowning, her eyes cutting back and forth between her and Tommy.

Tommy smiled at the name and glanced at Sammi. "You sure that's not your real name?"

"No," Sammi insisted. "She just does it to be annoying and/or when she has a attitude."

"Samantha!" Nik called again. "Who is that?" She pointed at Tommy, and Sammi clapped a hand to her forehead. Nik's large brown eyes narrowed as they took Tommy in, and as she got a good look at his face, recognition lit up in her eyes. "Oh, my – hey! My husband is a _huge_ fan," she called to Tommy. "He thinks what they did to you was bullshit."

"Uh, thanks," Tommy called back awkwardly. Sammi groaned in embarrassment. Her brother-in-law was a huge MMA fan and talked about Tommy as though they knew each other in real life.

"I didn't know my sister knew you," Nik went on, scooting into the passenger seat and leaning out the window. "She never mentioned she had famous friends."

"Nik!" Sammi hissed, glaring. "Please!"

"So we'll see you Sunday, then?" Nik went on casually and Sammi was truly horrified.

Tommy looked confused. "What's Sunday?"

Nik finally acknowledged her sister, shifting her eyes to her in a glare. "You didn't ask him to Sunday dinner? What is wrong with you?"

"Nik, for fuck's sake, what is wrong with _you?_" Sammi demanded, bringing her fingers to her temples. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt Tommy's elbow dig lightly into her ribs.

"What, I'm not invited?" he asked her seriously, though his eyes twinkled with mischief.

She gaped at him. "You-you _want _to come?" she asked, astonished.

He shrugged. "Sure. Why wouldn't I? Your sister is expecting me."

"The _whole family_," Nik corrected. "Or, they will be when I tell them about this." She waved a finger. "Not just any random guy off the street is gonna hang around our little Sammi without meeting the family. No offense."

"None taken," Tommy replied.

"Good. So we'll see you on Sunday," Nik repeated as though Sammi weren't sitting there. "I'll let her give you the details later."

"Oh, thank you," Sammi said sarcastically.

"Get in here," Nik said finally to Sammi. "You didn't bring me any yogurt? Jesus. Good night, Tommy," she added, giving him a big smile as she slid into the driver's seat. "See you later."

"Nice meeting you," Tommy replied. He rose when Sammi stood up. She looked mortified.

"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice. "I'm the baby of the family, they do this. You seriously do not need to come on Sunday. Just ignore her."

"Are you _un_inviting me to Sunday dinner?" Tommy asked.

"N-no! I mean, clearly you can come if you want, but I don't want you to feel obligated or anything…"

"I'd like to come," he said, smiling.

Sammi stared up at him doubtfully. "You remember I'm Italian, right?" she demanded. "With a big, crazy loud family? We made ball-busting into an art form. Plus, I repeat, I'm the baby of the family and a girl. You don't know what they'll do to you –"

"Stop," Tommy said with a chuckle. "I can handle myself. Plus, it would only make _you _look bad if I didn't come. Your sister just said she was going to tell your whole family she saw us together."

"She will, too," Sammi said, more to herself and sounding slightly panicked as she glanced over at her impatient sister.

"All right then. Just tell me when and where," Tommy said. He nodded toward the car. "You better go before she kills you or me or both of us."

Sammi sighed. "All right," she said. She gave him another doubtful look. "I – we'll talk later." She tossed her empty yogurt bowl into a nearby trash receptacle and climbed in beside her sister. He grinned to himself as Nik wiggled her fingers in a goodbye wave and Sammi gave him an absolutely bewildered stare before pulling off.

The cellphone in his pocket vibrated then, and he pulled it out and glanced down at the screen. It was from a woman named Rose, at the box office he'd called earlier on the way to the Y to see Sammi.

"Mr. Conlon," the email read. "I just wanted to personally reach out and tell you – good news! We were able to find two tickets for you after all for the _Giselle _performance next week. There was a mix-up with an online order and we found ourselves with a spare pair. They're in the best section of the house, too. Looks like you lucked out – we are now officially sold out. You can pick up your tickets at the box office the night of the performance. See you next week, and enjoy the show!"

Tommy smiled and sent a "Thank you" reply, before tucking the phone back into his pocket and heading for the bus stop to head back to the gym.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"I'll take the deposit again tonight, B," Sammi called the following evening as she quickly swept behind the counter. She grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter and hurried to the back to begin the dishes.

Bunz eyed her coolly from the counter where she was making lemon curd-filled cupcakes. "Why are we in such a hurry tonight?" she asked. "You don't teach until seven. And it's only five."

"I know, but, like, um…" Sammi made a rolling motion with her index fingers, casting about for a suitable lie. "I just have some errands and such to run."

"Like working on your showcase piece?" Bunz said, lazily spooning curd into the small holes cut into her freshly baked cupcakes.

Sammi sighed. She should have known better; Bunz was the closest person to her outside her family and knew her about as well, often better. She also had the uncanny ability to simply _know _things.

"Fine," she huffed. "I just didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to think that this means I've _agreed _to do the showcase. I told you I would _think _about it."

"But you are working on a piece," Bunz countered.

"Yes," Sammi said defensively. "One, because it's a good choreography exercise for myself. Two, because I should be prepared in the event that I do decide to do it."

"You _are _going to do it," Bunz said. "So, I'm really not sure what more there is to discuss. But it's fine with me. I don't mind if you leave early to work on your showcase piece. Or hang out with Tommy some more. Whatever."

"Oh, shut it," Sammi said, rolling her eyes as she began to rinse off the dishes. "It's not even like that. He's a _friend_."

"Who's coming over for an Italian Sunday dinner to meet your whole entire family," Bunz said. "I know what that means."

"Yeah, it means that he got railroaded into it when Nik rolled up and started acting like she was running shit," Sammi said. "He's a nice guy. What was he going to do, say no?"

"Uh, yes," Bunz said patiently. "He doesn't know your family or owe them anything. You're both grown, he doesn't need your parents' permission to date you or hang out with you or whatever it is he wants from you. He agreed to come because he _wants _to. Because he _likes _you."

"He was just being nice and didn't want to make me look stupid in front of my sister," Sammi insisted. "You know how Nik is."

"Well, I certainly don't know him like you know him," Bunz said, starting pipe lemon buttercream onto the cupcakes. "Or, well, _at all_ for that matter. But I don't think it's rocket science, my dear. The man likes you. So let him like you."

"I'm telling you, it's seriously not like that." Sammi scrubbed at the mixing bowl Bunz brought over to her. "We are just friends. That's all."

Bunz rolled her big brown eyes and shook her head. "Okay. Whatever. You know, for a twenty-seven-year-old, you are irritatingly naïve."

"Your…_face_ is naïve," Sammi shot back lamely.

Bunz laughed. "Whatever. Get out of here. Go work on something awesome and make me proud in May."

Sammi grabbed the deposit bag and exited the café. The bank her family used for business purposes was a couple blocks away. She made it there in record time, greeting the bank teller and made the deposit quickly. She tucked the empty, zippered cash bag into her dance bag and caught the bus just as it was pulling up across the street to go to the Y. As she settled into her seat, she felt her cell phone buzz in her pocket and she quickly pulled it out, smiling when she saw who the message was from.

Tommy had sent her a text message the night before letting her know what his number was, and since then, they'd been texting each other continuously. His latest message was asking what she was up to for the evening beyond teaching her dance class. She replied that she had nothing going on beyond working on her showcase piece. She had told him previously that she probably wouldn't be at the gym very often anymore, her desire to create and perfect her piece consuming most of her free time these days. As always, he made sure she had a safe ride home secured. By now, she had no doubt that if she didn't, he would either procure a vehicle to take her home or he would spend countless hours riding various buses with her to escort her to her door to ensure that she arrived home safely. It was sort of nice to have someone that genuinely concerned for her well-being.

She wondered who looked out for _his _well-being. She was pretty sure he was single, although she didn't trust anyone easily. Maybe he was actually a scumbag with a girlfriend but was making her think he was footloose and fancy-free. Immediately, she felt bad at the thought. She knew deep down that Tommy was playing straight with her. If for no other reason than he just didn't seem like the kind of guy to do things like see her home, buy her a late dinner, travel across the city just to bring her an item she'd left at his gym, agree to attend a family dinner – only to go home to his actual significant other. It wasn't like he was personally getting anything out of it. She knew that they were friends, but she thought that maybe he thought more of her than that. She had picked up on the way he'd looked at her at the lounge last weekend. Then again, she _had _been dolled up and scantily clad. She never looked like that on a regular day. In fact, that was the whole point of her appearance that night – to get attention. The owner of Cliff's had been very specific on what his waitresses and bartenders should look like. It wasn't a coincidence.

At any rate, he made her feel comfortable in a way she hadn't felt around the opposite sex in some time. She'd had boyfriends before, but only one really serious relationship that had ended shortly after graduating college. Then, last year's event had happened, and she had become a shell of her former self. Tommy was the first guy outside of her family that she'd been able to look in the face, talk to, open up a little bit to, since she had gone through what she'd gone through. She hoped she wasn't being naïve as Bunz had mentioned, but in a completely different way. Her instincts told her that she was safe, but she wasn't sure if she could trust it completely. She wasn't even sure she could or did trust Tommy. Certainly not completely. But she knew she _wanted _to. He had pulled her ass out of the fire on a couple of different occasions and while they might not have seemed like a big deal to him, to her, they meant more than she could put into words. She knew he had troubles of his own, or _had _had troubles of his own. She had watched him on TV like many other people had, and he had always seemed so _angry_ – the way he tore out of the ring after winning fight after fight, how he never gave interviews, how he never walked out to any music. How he never looked into the camera when it was in his face. He still had that dangerous edge she'd recognized in him then, but that deep-seated anger seemed to be gone. She wondered what had caused the anger in the first place, although him ending up in battle against his own brother might have had something to do with it. And she wondered how he had gotten past it. She assumed therapy must have played some sort of role.

_Therapy._ The thought made her sigh. She had been to therapy in New York. She had given it her all, she really had, but it hadn't helped her. Granted, maybe it was her therapist; she hadn't been very impressed with the man and the fact that he had been _a man _hadn't really helped him gain favor with her in that time. After ten sessions he'd all but deemed her a lost cause, and she'd given up on herself. She could no longer face the city, her home, with the same enthusiasm she'd been born with. Eventually, her parents had decided a move and reconnecting the family would be the best thing for her. She knew she'd made some improvements as a result of the move, but she wasn't where she personally thought she should be. Perhaps she should look into therapy here.

As the bus jounced along, she fell deeper into her thoughts. She was self-aware enough to realize that fear of the unknown and her inability to really trust anyone were probably her two greatest issues. She didn't know how to help the former. The latter, though, would require a leap of faith. She had to start somewhere. As she considered it, an idea began to germinate in her brain that she mulled over repeatedly the way a dog worried a bone. She almost felt a panic attack at the idea, but she shook it off.

_Leap of faith,_ she thought to herself, and picked up her phone. She typed the message out before her bravery could dissipate.

_Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow? Maybe watch a movie?_

Her fingers trembled as she hit the button to send the message and she immediately dropped the phone back into her lap, her fingers coming up to her temple as she squeezed her eyes shut. "What did you just do?" she mumbled to herself. She knew that for most people, this was a simple, common, ordinary exercise. People texted their friends all the time with dinner invitations. It was perfectly normal. And besides that, Tommy had shown her kindness in ways she hadn't expected from anyone outside her family when they had barely known each other, and she felt an urge to do something nice for him in return.

_But your own home?_ the frightened, rational part of her brain screamed. _What's wrong with a restaurant?_ Her pulse picked up, and she felt anxiety climb up her throat.

_Leap of faith,_ a quieter, stronger voice reminded her, and she took a couple of deep breaths. On the tail end of that thought, she wondered irrationally what the hell was taking him so long to reply.

A few moments later, her phone buzzed and although she hated herself for it, she scrambled to quickly snatch her phone into her hand to read the message.

_Sure. Sounds good._

She exhaled a breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding, and felt a confusing mixture of excitement, anticipation, and sheer, utter panic. Her hand moved toward her bag where her meds were stashed, but she pulled her hand back before she caught the zipper.

"Leap of fucking faith," she muttered out loud to herself.

:O:O:O:

"B, I can't do this," Sammi said frantically the next evening. They were closing, and she had exactly one and a half hours until Tommy was supposed to arrive at her apartment. "I think I have to cancel."

"Well, you're not going to do that, obviously," Bunz said calmly. "Just relax! I'm proud of you."

"I don't know how to _do_ this!" Sammi hissed. "I have never had a guy over before. I mean, not since I lived in New York before I became a basket case. What if he's a psycho? What if he robs me or tries to do something or…something?"

"He might be a psycho, to be fair," Bunz began. "But I highly doubt he wants to rob you. Your shit isn't that great, anyway. And he's been at your apartment way later than seven-thirty at night before _and _he's had you alone at his gym. If he wanted to do something to you I'm quite certain he would have done it already." She reached out and grabbed Sammi by the shoulders, giving her a little shake. "Man up! This is a date, you should be prepared to have –" Sammi gave her a murderous look and Bunz grinned. "_Fun_," she finished innocently. "Have fun."

"I feeling like throwing up," Sammi announced. "Everywhere. Like, what do I wear? Do I wear makeup? Am I supposed to shave my legs? I literally do not know what to do. I'm twenty-seven. This is pathetic."

"I mean, you should _always_ be shaving your legs," Bunz said, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "And, I think the makeup you have on now is fine. It's subtle. Natural. You should take your hair down, though." Her eyes moved over Sammi critically. "As for what to wear, it's your house. Wear whatever you want to be comfortable in." She shrugged negligently. "Wear panties."

"B!" Sammi exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "Not helpful."

"Okay, okay," Bunz said. "He's always been in gym clothes every time I've seen him because he's always at that gym. He'll probably just wear something like that to your place, so just wear like yoga pants and a cute loose top or something. Just be casual. It really doesn't matter what you wear, okay? Now, _chill_, son."

Sammi sighed and pressed her fingertips into her temples. "What about the food?" she asked. "Do you think what I made is okay?"

"It's perfect," Bunz said reassuringly, shooing Sammi toward the door. "Stop freaking out."

"I need, like, a tranquilizer," Sammi said. "Or like a Quaalude."

"A Quaalude?" Bunz repeated, stopping in her tracks. "Do you even know what that is?"

"Obviously I'm not being serious," Sammi replied with a frown. "But I can't relax and I really don't want to take my meds."

"Really?" Bunz said, momentarily distracted. "Good for you." She waved a hand in front of her. "What you need is a good, stiff shot of whiskey and you'll be fine."

"Right, I'll get drunk," Sammi said sarcastically. "Perfect mindset to entertain."

Bunz laughed. She grabbed the deposit bag from Sammi and shoved her out the door, locking the café behind her. "Just go. Go get ready, go _relax_, and have a good time. And I want a full report in the morning, thanks."

Sammi waved and trudged off toward her apartment. It was only a three block walk, and she'd have over an hour to get ready. The dinner she'd prepared was ready to go; it just needed to be assembled after he arrived. She'd prepared a simple dessert as well. She felt fine about the food despite her earlier insecurity; really, she was just insecure about herself.

She hurried up the stairs into her apartment. She'd straightened up last night. She generally kept things very tidy and deep-cleaned once a month, so it hadn't been too much work other than to fold throw blankets and scrub cat hair off the upholstery. Her small kitchen was sparklingly neat and the whole place smelled of vanilla, caramel and cinnamon – her favorite aromatic combinations. She fiddled with the light switch on the wall, adjusting the level of lighting. She finally decided to keep the lighting bright enough to see by but not so bright as to be overpowering. She wanted a welcoming, home-y glow – not romantic lighting. She shuddered at the thought.

Finally she moved to her bedroom. She studied herself in the full-length mirror. Bunz probably had a point – being that Tommy's "work attire" consisted of athletic clothing, she should probably expect him to show up in that and not a three-piece suit. Currently, she wore jeans, knee-high, heeled boots and a sheer, peach-colored top. She decided to dress it down and go the comfortable route, so she pulled out a clean pair of black yoga pants that had a leopard print, fold-down waist and her favorite old NYU sweatshirt. It was dark charcoal gray with red lettering, and she'd cut the neckline out to hang off her shoulder. It had been washed enough times to take the stiffness out of the cotton, and it was deliciously soft against her skin. She pulled her bobby pins out of her hair and let her long locks fall free. Since they'd been twisted and wound into a bun, they held a deep wave and she ruffled it to make it more voluminous. She tidied up her makeup a little, deciding not to add anything else and brushed her teeth before applying a lightly tinted lip balm that tasted like peppermint. She spritzed herself with her favorite perfume and studied herself critically in the mirror. She blew air hard between her lips and stalked out of the room.

She went into the kitchen and pulled down plates from her cabinet and set them out neatly on the counter. She glanced at the clock on the wall. He would be there in fifteen minutes. Anxiety spiked through her and she clutched the edge of the counter. Her stomach twisted itself into knots.

"Get a grip," she mumbled out loud to herself. She squeezed her eyes shut as panic threatened to consume her. She opened her eyes and spotted her prescription bottle a few feet away and moved down the counter toward them. She reached out to grab them, then stopped herself and pulled her hand back. She was becoming too reliant on the medication. Her therapist in New York had given her a number of ways to calm herself down, cautioning her that the medication should be used as a last resort if the relaxation techniques failed to work. Somewhere over the last year, she'd skipped the techniques and gone straight for the meds. She realized she didn't want to be dependent on them to "save" her anymore.

She thought back to what he'd taught her and she shut her eyes again and took some deep breaths, using her entire diaphragm to coax air in and out of her lungs deeply. She held her breath at the peak of her inhale for a few seconds and blew the breath slowly out between her lips. At the same time, she began to count backward from ten. She repeated the process two more times, and when she finally opened her eyes, she found that for the moment, she did feel a little bit more relaxed.

Then the buzzer next to her door went off, signaling that someone was at the main entrance to see her, and her stomach tightened again as her heart rate picked up speed and panic climbed back up into her chest.

"Fuck," she murmured, then went to the small box in the wall next to the door. She pressed a button. "Who is it?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. She knew who it was.

"It's Tommy," came the reply, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Okay," she called back, then realized she hadn't pressed the button. She growled in annoyance and pushed her finger against it. "Okay," she repeated, and hit the button to unlock the main entrance. She heard the electronic lock give and knew that he'd be upstairs in moments.

Frantically, she tried her techniques again, but all she succeeded in doing was making herself lightheaded as she couldn't control the speed at which she was breathing. She heard a light knock on her door and she chewed her lip.

"Get it together," she whispered to herself, then reached for the knob with a shaking hand. She let it rest on the doorknob for a moment, steadying herself, then opened the door slowly, practically cowering behind it. Her stomach dropped when she saw him. He was wearing jeans and a long sleeved light blue shirt. He wore clean tennis shoes and she could smell his spicy, clean cologne from the hallway. She felt like a slob next to him.

He peered at her curiously. "Hi," he said.

She shook herself, realizing she'd been staring like an idiot. "Hi," she replied, feeling shy and horribly inadequate. She stepped back, still mostly behind the door, to let him in. She shut the door behind him and leaned her forehead against it for a moment before triple-locking it automatically. She turned slowly to face him.

He stood in the middle of her living room with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around at her décor and the various pictures of her family she had in frames on the various shelves of the large mahogany entertainment center against the wall.

"You got a nice place," he said finally. "Are they all your family?"

"Yep, all of them," she replied, wrapping her arms around herself. "Some of them are extended family, but mostly it's my immediate family. That you'll be meeting soon enough," she added wryly.

He glanced at her over his shoulder and half-smiled. "I'm looking forward to that."

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," she said, shaking her head and pulling a laugh out of him.

"It sounds like fun," he replied.

Sammi realized they were both still standing and she gestured to her cream colored, microfiber sectional couch. "Have a seat," she offered and stepped around it to join him. He settled into a corner and she sat a few feet away and hugged a cushion to the front of her body.

"You look nice," she commented. "I thought you'd be in your regular gym clothes. I feel like a slob now."

"You look great," he replied automatically, then shifted his eyes from her. "I mean, you don't need to change."

Her smoke-gray, green-eyed cat sauntered into the room then, pausing in his journey to his water bowl in the kitchen to look at Tommy curiously.

"I didn't know you had any pets," Tommy said. He flicked his head at the cat. "What's his name? Her name?"

"His name is Rocky," Sammi replied, then lowered her hand to invite Rocky to come closer. He immediately moved toward her to rub his face against her hand and silently beg for behind-the-ear scratches, purring loudly.

"Rocky, huh?" Tommy said. "As in, Balboa?"

Sammi laughed. "No. Although, he thinks he's tough when he's squaring off against the alley cats. Through the window, that is." She ran her hand along Rocky's back as it arched and scratched the area where tail met rump. Rocky's purrs grew louder. "I named him Rocky because of those dark gray rings circling his tail. It reminded me of a raccoon tail."

Rocky jumped agilely onto the couch, stepping over Sammi's lap as he moved toward Tommy. Tommy didn't move but his eyes followed the cat's movements as he got closer. Finally, Tommy extended a hand slowly and Rocky sniffed at it delicately. Apparently approving of Tommy's scent, he leaned his head against his hand and rubbed.

"Is that ok?" Sammi asked. "Are you okay with cats, are you allergic or anything?"

Tommy shook his head, his eyes still on the cat. "Not allergic. Not a huge cat fan, but he seems cool enough." Rocky crept closer, swiping his cheeks against Tommy's forearm before gently butting his head into Tommy's bicep.

"Aw," Sammi crooned gently. "He likes you."

Tommy glanced at her, then back down at the loudly purring cat. "Why do you say that?"

"He bunted you," she said, then smiled at Tommy's confused expression. "Bunting is where cats knock their heads against you lightly. It's a form of affection for a human. He bunts me all the time. Usually against my chest." She shook her head slightly and laughed.

"Huh," Tommy said absently, looking back down at the cat. "Can't say I blame him."

Sammi's head snapped up but Tommy never looked at her. Finally, he lifted his hand and scratched Rocky behind the ears as Sammi had done. Rocky's eyes closed to slits as he leaned euphorically into Tommy's scratch. Sammi's eyes flickered between her pet and Tommy, and she bit back a grin when a half-smile finally crossed Tommy's face.

"I guess you're all right, buddy," he murmured to the cat, moving his fingers to scratch below his chin. After a few moments of Tommy's ministering, Rocky abruptly decided he'd had enough and moved back toward Sammi, crawling into her lap and raising himself up on his hind legs, pressing his front paws hard into her chest as he leaned into her face.

"What's that about?" Tommy asked, chuckling lightly at the sight as Sammi tried to push him down. He refused to budge.

"He's hungry, that's all," Sammi sighed. "It's his dinnertime." Suddenly she remembered the purpose of Tommy's visit and glanced over Rocky's head at him. "Are you hungry?"

"Sure," Tommy said, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

"Okay. I made grilled chicken salads with feta and grilled flatbread. Is that okay? I tried to make something healthy since I know you're training."

Tommy bobbed his head agreeably. "Sounds good. Thank you."

"All right. The bathroom is around the corner, first door on the left if you want to wash your hands. Get off me, Rock," she added to the cat, scooping him up and setting him down on the floor. She got up to move into the kitchen, Rocky at her heels. She scooped some cat food into his bowl and he dove in, somehow managing to purr as he ate.

Sammi washed her hands at the sink and dried them, then fixed the salads quickly and warmed the pita in her microwave. She heard Tommy in her bathroom washing his hands. She carried the plates back into the living room and set them down on the coffee table as he walked back in, his sleeves pushed up his forearms.

"I have iced tea, lemonade, water," Sammi said, ticking off on her fingers. "Hot tea. Wine."

_Wine?_ she thought. _Why would you even present that as an option?_

"Iced tea is fine with me," Tommy replied, sitting back down on the couch. "Thanks."

Sammi retrieved his requested beverage and a bottle of water for herself and returned to the living room, seeing Tommy sitting still with his eyes closed. She realized he was praying and quietly took her seat on the couch, not wanting to disrupt him. She said her own brief prayer and quickly crossed herself as Tommy opened his eyes and looked at her. He glanced down at his plate.

"This looks really good," he said, sounding impressed. "You made this?"

Sammi nodded modestly. "Yes. Don't be fooled. It was really easy. I can't cook very well." She speared a piece of chicken timidly and watched from under her lashes as he took a bite. He chewed for a moment then nodded.

"It's great," he said.

She smirked and tore off a piece of pita. "I'm not sure I believe you would tell me even if it wasn't," she teased. She was feeling more and more at ease with each passing moment. "You're too nice for that."

He made a wry expression as he forked up some more lettuce. "Not always," he replied.

They continued their meal, and to her surprise, Sammi found herself doing most of the talking. Sometimes she wondered if Tommy was really listening, as he rarely made eye contact with her, but then he would ask a question pertaining to something she'd just said, probing for further information, and she would launch into her reply. She was surprised that he seemed to be genuinely interested in what she was saying. She wasn't sure how he was so good at getting her to talk when not very many other people around her were.

"Would you like dessert?" Sammi asked when they were finished. "I made yogurt and fruit parfaits."

"That'd be great," Tommy replied. "Thanks," he added as she bent to take his plate. Sammi nodded over her shoulder to her extensive DVD collection.

"Feel free to pick out a movie," she said as she headed back into the kitchen. "If you have time, that is." She heard him move off the couch as she placed their dishes in her sink. She quickly prepared their parfaits, adding a sprinkle of granola on top, and brought them out, seeing Tommy turning a DVD over in his hand.

"What did you find?" she asked, and he held it up in reply. She saw that it was the Devil's Advocate, and she realized she hadn't seen that one in a while.

"Sure, that's fine with me," she replied. He opened her DVD player and placed the disc inside as she used her remote controls to switch to DVD-mode on the television. She handed him his dessert dish.

"Fancy," he commented, flashing her a quick smile.

He seemed totally relaxed around her, she had noticed, completely in contrast to how flustered she felt internally. She felt nowhere near the anxiety she'd felt before, since he'd done a good job of putting her at ease with his calm presence, but the more she studied him, the more flustered she grew. She had always known he was a good-looking guy but she felt a jolt each time she looked him now. His lips were tantalizingly full, especially for a man, and his face was lightly covered in a scruffy five o'clock shadow. She found herself mesmerized by it, wondering what it would feel like under her delicate fingertips.

As though he could feel the heat of her stare, his eyes suddenly slowly rose from his dish to her. She quickly averted her eyes and focused on spooning up the cool, creamy vanilla yogurt, feeling her face heat up.

She heard his spoon tinkle against the glass of the dish, and she glanced up, seeing he was finished. She rose quickly just as he did, reaching out for it.

"I can take –" she began, and the words died in her throat when he stepped close to her and reached out, gently taking her dish from her hand, his fingers lightly brushing hers.

"I got it," he said softly, looking down at her and meeting her eyes full-on, and she swallowed hard when she realized she was practically against him. She stepped back and dropped onto the couch.

"Thanks," she said, clearing her throat and willing the fire on her face to extinguish. She heard him quietly set the dishes in the sink before he reappeared. She expected him to take up his spot in the corner again, several feet away from her, but instead he dropped down right next to her. A surge went through her as she kept her eyes on the TV.

_Holy fuck_, she thought. She felt completely conflicted. On one hand, it had become her natural reaction to instantly shy away from physical touch from most people. Even being affectionate with her family was hard sometimes, although closeness with her nieces and nephews was not a problem for her. And although she'd hugged Tommy the previous weekend, it had been different because _she _had been the one to engage the touch; moreover, it had been quite tentative. But on the other hand, she knew how rude it would seem if she scooted away from him. It wasn't like he'd sat down in her lap, and there were still several inches of space between them. But he was close enough for her to feel his body heat and that made her want to run screaming into her bedroom and slam and lock the door. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stay absolutely still, trying to draw deep breaths through her nose as silently as possible and calm herself. After a moment, she felt herself relaxing a little. He smelled amazingly, and if she were being honest with herself, she realized – she _remembered _– that she _liked _being close to him.

"How many times have you seen this movie?" she asked him quietly, glancing over out of the corners of her eyes. If he sensed her discomfort at all, he kept it to himself. His body posture was completely relaxed, his long legs splayed out in front of him, his arms folded comfortably over his chest. She relaxed when she saw it; he wasn't going to be reaching for her. She wondered if he'd done that on purpose to put her at ease; if there was one thing she'd picked up about him, it was that he was much more observant and sensitive to her moods than he would ever let on.

"Handful," he replied, not taking his eyes from the screen. "I'm a big Al Pacino fan."

"Me, too," she said. "And Keanu Reeves is just comical in this movie."

Tommy's full lips pulled up into a smirk. "Yeah, come to think of it he is. Probably the worst actor in Hollywood."

"Pretty close," Sammi agreed. She moved the sofa cushion so that it was between them, but she placed her elbow on it, propping her head on her hand, and leaned closer into him. She felt better about doing so with the barrier between them.

They watched the film for a while, laughing at the parts that Sammi was certain the filmmakers had not intended to be funny. She felt herself blushing and inwardly cringing during the sex scenes, wishing she could hide her face in the pillow. Sex scenes in and of themselves didn't bother her, but she struggled with watching them with anyone but herself. Especially with a guy she happened to be attracted to sitting right next to her. For his part, Tommy seemed totally unmoved by it. He watched it with the same expression as he had watched the rest of the movie and seemed completely nonplussed by the naked female breasts and thrusting on screen.

When Sammi could no longer endure it and thought she'd have to make up an excuse to go to the bathroom or into the kitchen, Rocky saved the day. He jumped onto the coffee table, staring at the two humans before him, and proceeded to casually knock Sammi's open bottle of water off the table with a swipe of his paw. The bottle toppled over, spurting water out onto the carpet as the cat licked his paw and rubbed it over his ear, unfazed.

Sammi jerked upright, Tommy slowly following her action. "Rocky!" she exclaimed, swatting out at the cat who easily dodged her hand and leapt gracefully off the table and took off toward her bedroom. "You little brat!"

Tommy chuckled and picked up the bottle as Sammi raced into the kitchen for a dish towel. She hurried back out and dropped to her knees, soaking excess moisture up off her large rug and carpet.

"That was his way of saying 'Fuck you, pay attention to me,'" Sammi explained as she mopped up the water. "He can be an attention-whore sometimes."

"That was actually awesome," Tommy said. He held up a hand at the glare Sammi shot him. "Except for the spill. That was a bad kitty."

Sammi burst out laughing. "Hearing the word 'kitty' come out of your mouth just doesn't seem right," she commented, carrying to sodden towel into the kitchen. She squeezed out the excess water and draped the towel over the faucet. Tommy settled back into his place on the couch, subtly arranging the cushion for her against his side. She smiled slightly, not missing it, and dropped onto the couch, pulling her feet up as she sat.

"Anyway, back to more Keanu ridiculousness," she joked, reaching for the remote when she noticed Tommy had paused it. Suddenly she felt his hand drop onto her forearm to stop her and she froze, looking at him. He was staring at her leg.

"What's that?" he asked quietly.

Sammi glanced down and horror filled her. The hem of her yoga pantleg had negligently flipped up when she'd sat down, revealing the inside of her ankle – and a dozen raw, red, deliberate slices in her skin.


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning: This chapter contains explicit descriptions of rape and violence.**

**A/N - Sorry if there are many typos in this. I'm in a hurry but I wanted to get this posted before the weekend. Hope you enjoy, leave me reviews, and Happy Easter to you all :-)**

**Chapter 11**

Tommy watched her with a calmness he didn't feel as she yanked the hem of her pantleg down. But it was too late; he'd seen the wounds. The clearly self-inflicted wounds.

He'd known a few Marines overseas, so depressed from being away from home, from witnessing their brothers-in-arms die, that they'd done similar things to themselves to cope. From cutting to burning themselves with cigarette butts to other forms of self-harming, he'd seen it all.

It hurt his heart. He didn't know Sammi well, but he wanted to get to know her better. She was so beautiful, so smart, so talented, that it made him ache a little to know that whatever demons she was battling forced her to take it out on herself. He wondered how he'd never noticed before, but then realized that with the exception of the bar, he'd always seen Sammi in long pants. And when they'd gone to Cliff's, she'd been in shorts, but he suddenly recalled the boots she'd been wearing. They'd gone well over the area with the wounds.

He studied her face, watching as her cheeks reddened and her eyes filled with shame and tears. Normally, he would have felt uncomfortable dealing with a crying woman, but after seeing what he saw, he pushed that to the side and focused on her. Knowing what he knew about his Marines that had self-harmed, he knew it was a cry for help. He also knew that if someone didn't do something, it wasn't hard to believe that the emotional pain someone who self-harmed went through could become enough to push them over the edge, for good. And he be damned if he let it happen to anyone he knew.

"Sam," he said in the same quiet tone. "Talk to me, please. Why are you doing that to yourself?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but whatever words she wanted to speak died on her tongue. She pressed a hand to her forehead as she struggled to ebb the large tears slipping down her face. Tommy didn't press her and folded his arms over his chest, waiting patiently.

"It's all right," he added gently after a moment, surprising even himself with the words. "Talk to me."

Sammi drew in a shuddery breath and swiped a hand over her cheeks. He had a rough idea of what she was going to tell him, piecing together things she'd told him over the weeks combined with her mannerisms. Although he was pretty sure what the punch line of her story was going to be, he sincerely hoped she wouldn't say it; that it wouldn't confirmed for real.

She seemed to be struggling for words again, so he cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. Maybe it would be easier for her if he wasn't staring at her.

"You told me something bad happened to you in New York," he said to the carpet. "Something bad enough to make you leave. What happened?" He lifted his eyes momentarily to her and she was still staring down at her lap.

There was an extended pause, the apartment so silent and still he could hear Rocky scratching against _something_ in her bedroom. Tommy had all but given up on getting an answer when she finally spoke.

"It happened to me last year," she said softly. "I was teaching a dance class in Queens at a community center, like I did twice a week. I lived in Harlem at the time, much to the annoyance of my parents." She shrugged. "I had to leave Brooklyn and try to do my own thing for a while. I had friends in Harlem. I liked it there. So one night I was coming home on the bus from Queens. And there was a man on the bus. He got off at my stop in Harlem. I started getting nervous because I thought he was following me. In fact, he _did_ follow me to my apartment building." Tommy's stomach tightened with stress and he continued to glare at the floor. "But he got on the phone with his friend and told him he was on his way over. And when I got inside, he went down a different hallway. So I stopped to check my mail, and I continued up to my apartment. When I got to the door, I felt something press into my back and I felt hot breath on my ear and a man's voice telling me to stay quiet and let him in or he'd shoot me. I was terrified. I didn't know what to do. I asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted to rob me and take my cash and that I better hand it over or that he'd kill me. So I let him in and as soon as he was inside with the door shut, he pistol-whipped me. I fell on the floor in my living room and I just remember him flipping my coffee table over with one hand like it didn't weigh anything, just to get it out of his way. He stood over me while I was on the floor and we just stared at each other for a long time and I realized in that moment he never wanted to rob me."

Tommy pulled in a deep, silent breath as he listened, shutting his eyes for an instant before returning them to the carpet. He folded his lips inward as she continued, her voice beginning to tremble.

"He leaned down over me and I guess I was too afraid to move, to try to fight, anything. I think that's why, looking back, I got into working out and boxing and stuff. So that I could try to make it second nature to fight back. He pressed the gun to my head and told me to take my clothes off and that I better be quiet or he'd kill me. So, I did. I took them off." He heard a light smacking sound and glance up quickly, seeing her hand pressed to her forehead again. He didn't have time to look away before her eyes opened and she looked straight into his. He saw shame and utter humiliation in them, and the look was almost enough to make him want to tell her to stop, that she didn't need to continue. But she seemed to want to, to _need _to. At her next words, he clenched his jaw so tight he thought he might have cracked his teeth. But she said the words without looking away from him, her voice dull and almost flat.

"He spent the next ten hours raping me. Over and over and over. All over my apartment. He raped me in every way possible. He raped me with himself. His gun. He broke a chair leg and raped me with that."

Tommy looked away then, bringing his hands to his face. He rubbed them over his skin, his throat tightening. "Jesus Christ," he said hoarsely.

Again, it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to stop, the urge stronger than before. But he knew he couldn't. It had taken her so long to open up to him; and finally, she trusted him enough to tell him this devastating, traumatizing story. For all he knew, she might have never opened up this way to anyone else. He couldn't tell her stop now, just because he couldn't handle it. It wouldn't be fair.

"He raped me in my own bed. He made me lay next to him while he slept. He – he made me _hold _him." A sob involuntarily erupted from her throat and she clapped a hand to her mouth. It was a long moment before she could talk again. "When he wasn't raping me or making me hold him, he was beating me. He cracked six of my ribs. He broke my hand. He gave me a concussion. I had black eyes, split lips. He even knocked three teeth out of my mouth which I later had to have replaced." She stared off into space, as if seeing herself in the aftermath of what had happened. "Finally, in the early hours of the morning the next day, he left. But not without one final rape." Tommy glanced at her face again, now feeling truly sickened, and waited. He knew it would haunt him, but he waited for it. She slid her eyes back to his and stared through him. "He raped me with a knife. From my kitchen." She whispered the words.

Abruptly, Tommy rose from the sofa and placed his hands on his head. He didn't know what he was doing; he just needed to move. Bile rose in his throat and remorse and sorrow for her slammed into him like a freight train. It all made sense now – her fear, her dislike of being touched or close to people, her anxiety and panic.

Her self-inflicted wounds.

He turned to face her. She wasn't looking at him; she was still staring off into space, but her face looked strangely calm.

"Sam," he said softly. She turned her head slowly to meet his eyes. "I'm not good with words," he went on, struggling for the right thing to say. He knew he'd never find it. "But – I'm sorry. I'm so _fucking_ sorry that happened to you. I wish – I want to help you. Somehow. I don't know how –"

"Tommy, I can't have kids," she interrupted quietly, one final confession. "I'll never be able to have children. He took that from me." A single tear dropped down her cheek, but that strange calm on her face never wavered. He found he couldn't look away from her face. He literally had no words for her; even if he had, there was nothing adequate to tell her. Nothing to describe how terribly sorry he was.

He moved slowly to the couch and sat down next to her. She continued to watch him, her eyelids heavy with a sadness he would never know, watching him in a curiously detached manner. He slowly reached out and took her small, cold, trembling hand, clasping it between both of his and squeezing gently. He didn't know what else to do.

As if that one, simple gesture proved to be just too much, Sammi's face crumpled and she burst into tears. She dropped her head into her other hand and Tommy sat silently at her side, staring down at his lap, squeezing her hand in both of his as the sounds of her personal hell, her utter torment, tore through her, ripped into him, and shattered the walls of her small apartment.

At any other time he would have felt horribly uncomfortable, but he was witnessing pure, unadulterated human pain and it was humbling, to say the very least. He continued to hold her hand as her sobs died down and eventually quieted. The silence in the apartment was punctuated only by her soft sniffles.

"Let me grab you a tissue," he said softly, recalling the ones he'd seen in her bathroom earlier. He grabbed several and brought them to her. She wouldn't meet his eyes as she took them but he saw that her face was red, her eyes and lips puffy from the tears, and he walked to the window, giving her his back and also some privacy to clean herself up. He heard her blow her nose quietly and clear her throat.

"Sorry," she whispered hoarsely.

Fury flamed in him, but it wasn't for her. Nonetheless he whirled to face her, and he knew anger was written on his face. Her bloodshot, puffy-lidded brown eyes widened in fright and she cowered slightly back into the cushions.

"_You're_ sorry?" he demanded. "Why the fuck should _you_ be sorry? You didn't ask for any of that bullshit to happen to you. You didn't do anything wrong, Sammi. Not a goddamn thing. So don't you dare ever be fucking sorry."

"I'm s –" she started, then bit her lip, catching herself. Tommy shook his head and crossed the room back to the couch. He sat down hard and turned to face her.

"I didn't mean to sound like I was pissed at you," he said, more quietly. "I'm just disgusted by what that asshole did to you. Truly disgusted. And I don't want you apologizin' for anything. You understand?" Sammi lowered her eyes but bobbed her head. He laid a hand on her ankle and she twitched like she wanted to jerk away from him, but he kept his hand where it was. "And _this_ shit stops now. I mean it. Do you get me?" Sammi didn't respond, verbally or nonverbally, so he tightened his grip on her ankle ever so slightly; not enough to cause pain, but enough to get her attention and let her know how serious he was. "I'm not fuckin' kidding, Sam. Promise me."

She bit her lip as brow furrowed. He reached out and tilted her chin up with his index finger, forcing him to look at her. He lifted his eyebrows in a silent repeat of his question, his eyes narrowing slightly to let her know he was deadly serious.

She inhaled deeply and looked him in the eye. "I promise," she breathed out, and he trusted it. He nodded in acknowledgment and as though it had a mind of his own, his hand moved to smooth her hair back away from her face. The action surprised them both and he dropped his hand. It had come so naturally to him, automatically. He hadn't even thought about it. He moved back from her slightly.

"Good," he replied, dropping his gaze back to the rug and clenching his fists together. "I just want you to know, I'm not in the habit of telling anyone what they can and can't do. But as long as we're friends I won't let you hurt yourself. Not on my watch."

He hadn't meant to speak the words as passionately as he did, but he couldn't stop thinking of the comrades that _had _hurt themselves on his watch. And the friends that he had lost when maybe he could have done something to prevent it. He refused to let that happen again. He bit his lip as he felt his emotions, anger and sorrow, stirring at the thought and it made his breath come faster and his heart beat harder.

He felt the couch move as Sammi shifted her weight and he glanced up, registering surprise as she slowly reached out to remove the sofa cushion from between them and placed it back behind her. Her eyes, so terribly sad, met his as she leaned toward him. Automatically he shifted back, then moved under the pressure of her hand when it came to gently rest on his chest, pushing lightly, silently asking him to lean back. He complied, confused, his hands lifting into the air, not knowing what she wanted. Then, he felt her cuddle up to his side, gingerly resting one of her hands on his chest as she leaned against him. Her head came to rest on top of her hand while her other arm stretched over his torso.

For a moment he froze, unsure of what to do, and then the natural reflexive impulse he'd felt earlier kicked back in, and his hands settled against her of their own accord. One reached across his body to lightly grasp her arm that held him, while his other hand dropped to her hair lightly, twining the strands through his fingers. The gentle motion of his fingers playing in her hair made her relax noticeably; he felt the tension leak out of her as she relaxed against him. After another long moment, he realized she had fallen asleep against him, her breathing deep and even.

He didn't want to move. Ever. He managed to wedge his hand into his back pocket and pull out his phone without disturbing her. One-handed, he quickly typed a message out to Fen.

"_Not coming back tonight. Lock up for me. Keys are in my top desk drawer. If you lose them I will end you."_

He hit the send button and then silenced his phone, tossing it on the cushion beside him, and settled back. He adjusted himself to allow Sammi to be more reclined and then reached behind his head, grabbing the soft, cream-colored throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. With minimal jostling he managed to unfold it and then draped it over her. Once it was in place, he wrapped his arms around her and closed his own eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

:O:O:O:

Sammi's neck and shoulder hurt and she heard the incessant rumbling of what sounded like a motor boat in her ear.

She cracked one eye open and glanced around. It was morning, light coming in from the blinds, and Rocky was standing on the side of her body, nuzzling her cheek with his cold nose and nipping at her ear with his sharp teeth. Her eye fell on the digital display on her cable box. She saw it was a quarter 'til five, which was just a little bit earlier than the time she usually woke up to get to the café in the morning.

She felt the steady beat of Tommy's heart below her ear, heard his deep, even breathing. She couldn't believe they'd fallen and stayed asleep here on the couch – and she couldn't believe he'd slept over all night. One of his arms was slung around her, the other one resting in his lap. She realized her throw blanket was draped around her and thought that he must have put it there.

She shooed Rocky away and tried to gently disentangle herself from Tommy, but he made a quiet noise, rumbling deep in his chest, and though he was still asleep, his arms tightened around her and gathered her in close. She leaned against him, her forehead against the side of his neck, and inhaled his scent. For a moment she dozed off again, but woke fifteen minutes later to Rocky's incessant purring in her ear. He was now perched across the back of the couch with his front half draped over her shoulder. He began to lick her cheek like a dog, his rough tongue scraping almost painfully across her tender skin as he applied more pressure than was really necessary to groom a furless human.

"You know what you're doing," she muttered to him. Tommy stirred at the sound of her voice, moving quicker than she would have expected for someone who had been sound asleep. She figured that had to do with his time in the military; she would assume that being at war overseas would hone anyone's reflexes to wake quickly in the face of potential danger.

For the time being, though, it was just the face of a hungry feline. Tommy let out a low chuckle, his deep voice roughened by sleep as Rocky began to sniff at his face. The hand furthest from her reached up to scratch the cat behind his ears.

"Good morning," Sammy said, feeling shy and embarrassed as the memories of the previous night came rushing back to her. She wasn't sure what to say, how to say it, or whether to say anything at all. She jumped a little when she felt his other hand touch her back gently.

"Good morning," he replied. She looked into his eyes and realized she didn't need to say anything. One corner of his mouth turned up a little and after a moment he dropped his gaze, though his hand continued to gently stroke at her back. It felt wonderful.

She sighed reluctantly. "I have to start getting ready for work," she whispered.

"It's all right. I've got to get going, too," he murmured back. "I'm usually up running by now."

"Sorry," she said, genuinely regretful. "I made you miss your workout."

"You didn't make me miss anything," Tommy replied, sitting up slowly so as not to jostle her. Sammi scooted back to give him room. "I chose to stay here."

Sammi flushed a little. "Can I make you some coffee? Some breakfast?" she asked.

"Nope, don't worry about it," Tommy said, standing up and stretching. "Just some water, if you don't mind."

Sammi got off the couch and went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She handed it to him and then went to feed Rocky who was growing increasingly impatient. She headed back into the living room as Tommy finished draining the water.

"Thanks for having me over," he said.

"Thanks for staying with me," she replied. "Sorry I ruined our night."

"You didn't," Tommy said simply. "You couldn't."

Sammi stared up at him, biting her lip. God, what must he think of her now? Did he think she was some damaged basket case? Was he disgusted by what she'd told him? Did he look at her differently? She felt like crying again.

As if he could read her thoughts, he reached out and took her hand. She allowed him to pull her toward him, tensing only slightly when he slipped his arms around her. He didn't say anything else, and that was okay with her. She was only too happy to sink into the warmth of his embrace. She leaned her cheek against his chest and tightened her arms around his waist, closing her eyes.

They flew open a moment later when she felt something brush the top of her head. Had he just kissed her?

His hand moved from her back to her hair and smoothed over her unruly mane, before stepping away and looking down at her.

"You better get started on your day," he said softly. "I'll call you later."

She nodded silently, watching as he unlocked her three locks and slipped out the door. She wondered if he would actually call, and realized she couldn't and wouldn't blame him if he didn't.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hi, everyone! I hope you all had a blessed Easter (if you celebrate) and a wonderful weekend (if you do not!). **

**So, I normally wouldn't do this here, but I need to address a review and some PMs I've received regarding the last chapter. I was criticized for making it unbelievable/unrealistic and too violent. Also, that it made no sense for Sammi to open up to Tommy in the detail that she did.**

**First, I respect everyone's opinions. However, regarding the last chapter, I fully stand by what I wrote. For anyone that finds the last chapter to be unrealistic I URGE YOU to check out a television program called "I Survived". In the US, you can find it on the Biography channel. It is a program where individuals who have survived harrowing tales tell their stories of survival. The women featured on this program are oftentimes victims of assault by another human (versus natural disaster) and let me tell you - NINE TIME OUT OF TEN they have been raped and brutalized. What happened to Sammi is an amalgamation of some of the absolutely horrendous things that I have witnessed women on this show relay. From the length of time of some rapes, to the instruments utilized, to their attacker (you would be surprised at how often they suffered absolute brutalization by a perfect STRANGER). What happened to Sammi has happened to women everywhere - we just don't always hear about it. It CAN happen and it HAS happened and sadly, it WILL CONTINUE to happen. Don't think for one second that psychos operate by a set of rules or a code of conduct - the rule is, there ARE no rules. Humans are just capable of inexplicable violence and cruelty. **

**My good friend and loyal reader Nik216, who has a degree in psychology, has provided the following link for further reading on this topic: **** www 1 . csbsju . edu / uspp / crimpsych / CPSG - 5 . htm**** Just take out the spaces because you know how FFnet can be with links. **

**Thanks for reading.**

**Chapter 12**

Bunz looked up in surprise when Sammi burst through the back door of the café later that morning. The café still wasn't open for business but Bunz was organizing the kitchen's inventory as she waited for her Italian loaf to finish baking in the oven to join the other dozen freshly baked loaves lined up neatly on the counter.

"Hey," she said uncertainly, noting Sammi's face. "No offense, yo, but you look awful! Are you all right? You look like you've been crying. You're all…puffy."

Sammi simultaneously touched an eyelid and her lips with both hands. "I'm – I don't know what I am. Can I talk to you? I need to tell you something. About New York."

Bunz studied her for a long moment, then pulled over a couple of stools and sat down, patiently watching her friend.

Sammi took a deep breath and told her the story of her experience in New York. She left out some of the more gruesome details, but essentially, it was the same story she'd shared with Tommy. Somehow, it was easier this time; she knew she trusted Bunz and that her friend would never judge her or look at her differently. She also told Bunz how she'd told Tommy about it after he'd spotted the wounds on her leg.

Bunz wiped tears from her cheeks when Sammi was through. "I'm so sorry," she managed to say thickly. "I always assumed you'd been assaulted but I had no idea it was to that degree. Wow."

Sammi reached out and patted Bunz's hand, strangely amused that she was the one offering comfort. Why shouldn't she?

"It's ok. I'll be ok," she said, although she wasn't sure if she could believe that or not.

"Can I ask you a couple questions?" Bunz said hesitantly.

"Of course," Sammi replied.

"What happened to the guy? Your attacker?"

Sammi sighed. "Eventually, he was caught. It took about three months. I was unconscious from the beating and blood loss by the time he left my apartment. When I came to, I called 911 and they did a rape kit on me at the hospital. Eventually, they found a match to his DNA, and they eventually caught him. It turns out that he'd done what he did to me to several women in the Tri-State area. I was just the only one that lived to tell the story."

Bunz sat in silence, staring at her hands as she processed what she'd been told. She glanced up, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Why you?" she asked quietly.

Sammi shrugged a shoulder, sighing. "Why any woman?" she asked rhetorically. "He told the police he'd been tracking me for a few weeks. He thought I was an easy target…and I was." She shook her head. "Not anymore, though. That's why I got into boxing and stuff before I came here. I'll _never _be that defenseless again, ever."

Bunz nodded. "So you told Tommy," she said. "How did he react?"

"Well, he didn't run screaming out the door," Sammi said wryly, "although I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. He was actually really…sweet."

"You told him everything?"

"Yes," Sammi said. "Everything. In detail."

"Why do you think that was?" Bunz asked, folding her hands in her lap. "You don't know him that well."

"I don't," Sammi agreed. "But there's something in him that makes me want to trust him. I know he's had some family issues and I know he's damaged, too. I guess I feel like he just…_gets _me. Like you do. And it was sort of like word vomit. Once I started talking, I just couldn't stop. It was like, subconsciously, I _had _to get every detail out of me, rid myself of that sickness. I guess I realized in that instant that I can't really start to heal if I don't let it out."

"That makes perfect sense," Bunz said. "Perfect sense. So if you feel better about telling us, and he was really sweet…what's the problem? You still look so…sad."

"He'll never call me again," Sammi said with definitive acceptance. "He's a nice guy. He wouldn't leave a girl by herself in tears. But now he knows how fucked I am. He's like, a local celebrity, and an _actual _celebrity in the MMA world. Why the hell would he want to burden himself with a crazy, damaged _shell_ of a girl when he could find someone who _really_ has her shit together?"

"Stop it," Bunz said sternly. "You're _not _crazy, you're _not _a shell. You might be damaged but it's nothing that can't be fixed. You're intelligent, talented, a loyal friend and not to mention, you're sort of pretty. He'd be an idiot not to see those things. And…" Bunz trailed off, recalling her conversation with Tommy about the ballet when he'd stopped by. She was certain he hadn't been asking questions _just _out of curiosity for his own information. "He seems really thoughtful and nice. He did come down here when he barely knew you to apologize that you got attacked on his property. That says a lot about a person. So don't sell yourself _or _him short. Don't be unfair – you don't know what he's thinking right now."

Sammi knew her friend had a point and hope immediately rose in her chest. She did her best to neutralize it, knowing that Tommy was his own man and would act of his own accord.

"Anyhow," Sammi sighed. "I just wanted to tell you what was up with me. I should have told you a long, long time ago. It didn't really feel right that I told him before you, but it sort of happened on its own."

"Stop, again," Bunz said, holding up her hand. "You told me, and that's what matters. You didn't have to, but you trust me enough with that information. So, thank you. I do appreciate it. Maybe one day I'll tell you _my_ sad, sad tale." She smiled teasingly.

Sammi laughed. "Only if you want to. But I am always here."

"Love you, yo," Bunz said, reaching out and pulling Sammi into a brief hug. "Now, we better get our shit together before customers start showing up. Or your parents!"

Sammi shuddered, instantly picturing her father's face turning red as he bellowed at her in Italian. "You're right," she said, climbing off her stool and hurrying toward the front. "I'm on it!"

The day flew by, due to the many customers that entered through the doors of Café Carnevale. It was a typical for a Friday, with people taking the day or a half-day from work. It was another misty, gray spring day but nonetheless the café was overflowing by the noon lunch rush.

Sammi and Bunz worked the crowd at the register together, handling the large group with quick service and good-natured barbs tossed to customers. An hour later, Sammi was pleased to see their tip jar was nearly full.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about," Bunz said, eyeing the jar. "Did I ever thank your parents for only having the two of us as employees? More tips to go 'round!"

"Word to that," Sammi murmured. By her best estimate, there had to be nearly two hundred dollars in the jar.

"All right," Bunz announced, stretching. "We should slow down now. I'm gonna go bake some shit."

"And I will straighten up here," Sammi said, glancing at the mess on the counters. "And sort the drawer."

As Bunz retreated into the kitchen, Sammi began to wipe off the counters and the espresso machine, restocking cups and lids and sleeves. It always happened this way – whenever there was a huge rush, there was always an equally huge mess to clean up afterward.

As she cleaned, Sammi realized that she felt different somehow. She felt _lighter._ For the first time in a long time, the oppressive weight of her dirty little secrets had lightened with her telling not one, but two people. She didn't know how things would play out with Tommy, but telling Bunz had made her feel so much better.

Her phone suddenly vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans and she pulled it out. She had a text from Tommy.

"_Hey. I just wanted to check on you. See how you're doing."_

Sammi was surprised. While she had taken Bunz's advice to try to "be fair," not discounting the possibility of Tommy reaching out to her, she hadn't held high hopes for it and certainly hadn't expected him to reach out so quickly.

"_I'm good,"_ she typed back. "_Thanks for asking. How is your day?"_

"_It's ok,"_ he responded after a moment. "_Working at Cliff's tonight?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Got a ride home?"_

Sammi smiled. "_Yes. Bunz."_

"_Ok. Good."_

Sammi chewed her lip, then typed, "_Could I stop by at the gym after I get off work at the café?"_

"_Of course,"_ he responded. "_You don't need to ask me if you can do that."_

"_Ok," _she replied. "_I'll see you in a few hours."_

:O:O:O:

Sammi walked through the entrance of the gym apprehensively, the paper bag with string handles she clutched dangling from her fingertips. It felt like forever since she'd been in the gym, when it had really only been a few days. She hadn't ever set foot in the gym in street clothes, and she drew stares from the nearby gym patrons drawn to the pretty brunette in skinny jeans, a ruffled cream-colored top, and an olive utility jacket with black leather sleeves.

"Hey, _Carnevale,_" Fen greeted her from the front desk where he was watching ESPN.

"Hey," she replied. "Good to see you're hard at work like always."

"I do what I can," he said modestly. He nodded to the bag she carried. "Smells good. You bring me grub?"

Sammi smirked. "You wish," she retorted. "Is Tommy around?"

"Ah, should have known you were here for that Irish prick and not me," Fen replied, feigning hurt. "But yes. He's in his office. Go on back."

"Thanks," she said, and walked past the desk, her black, peep-toe wedges thumping dully on the concrete floor.

Tommy was sitting on a corner of his desk, talking rapidly into his phone when she approached the doorway. She wasn't sure who he was talking to, but she could tell it had to do with the tournament.

"Yeah, I'm good," he was saying. "Workouts have been good. Training's fine. I'm set." He paused. "Yeah. I'll get back to you on that. Just send me the itinerary. No. No interviews. I mean it, Colt." He glanced up quickly when Sammi shifted her weight, and though he didn't smile, his face seemed to light up and he nodded slightly and held up one finger.

"All right, man," he said. "Just send it to me. Okay. I gotta go. Something important just came up."

Sammi smiled inwardly.

He hung up and tossed his cell phone on his desk. "Hey," he greeted, his eyes moving over her quickly. "How you doing?"

"Good," Sammi replied. She held up the bag. "Do you have time for a dinner break?"

Tommy lifted his brows in surprise. "Sure," he said. "You really didn't need to do that. Thank you. Shut the door."

Sammi pushed his office door closed and set the bag on the desk, pulling out foil-wrapped gyros. "I got a grilled chicken gyro and a grilled steak gyro, on multigrain flatbread with sprouts and some other junk." Sammi held each one in her hands. "Which one do you want?"

Tommy smirked. "Which one do _you_ want?"

"Chicken," Sammi replied immediately.

His smile grew. "Good. 'Cause I wanted steak."

She handed him the sandwich and took a seat across from him. He studied her, then reached for a napkin. "So. You came all the way out here to bring me something to eat?"

Sammi sighed and pulled at a piece of chicken. "No. I mean yes, but no. I wanted to talk about last night."

Tommy nodded and dropped his eyes to his gyro. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"The fact that I'm sorry I got all emo on you?" Sammi said self-consciously, leaning forward. "I sort of ruined the whole night, and I just wanted to apologize for that."

"Don't do that," Tommy said quietly, shaking his head. "Don't apologize."

"You probably think I'm a freak," Sammi said mournfully, then mentally kicked herself in the ass. She hadn't meant to say that; it just came out.

"Hell, no," Tommy said vehemently, frowning at her. "I don't think you're a damn freak. I think you're someone who went through a horrible experience and you're trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces." He took a bite of his gyro. "I can relate."

Sammi looked at him in surprise, wondering if he'd elaborate. "You can?"

He nodded, and set his sandwich down with a sigh. "I can." He swigged from his bottle of water. "My pops used to smack me and my brother and my mother around when I was little. He was an alcoholic."

"Your dad?" Sammi repeated, confused. She thought back to what she'd heard about him during Sparta. "But wasn't your dad your trainer?"

"He still is, sort of," Tommy said. "He got sober a few years ago. Anyway, I left with my mother when I was fourteen. We went west. She essentially raised me. I never came back here until after she died. My brother stayed behind because he had a girlfriend, who he ended up marrying. But I had never forgiven him or my dad for what they'd done, until recently. I think that had a lot to do with why I joined the Marines – I was looking for that brotherhood I never had at home."

Sammi listened, fascinated. She would never have imagined that someone like Tommy could be as introspective as he was being right now; it was refreshing, and she knew that this was a painful topic for him. But he was sharing, and he was doing so to find some common ground with her.

"Between my upbringing, and then losing my best friend in a friendly-fire accident in Iraq – trust me, I know what it is to be damaged," he went on in the same quiet tone. "As part of my discharge from the Corps I had to go through six months of therapy. And it actually helped me out, a lot." His full lips pulled into a smirk. "Just don't tell anyone that."

Sammi smiled. "I won't," she promised. "So what's your relationship with your father like now? I've seen you and your brother together."

"It's…strained," he admitted. "But, we definitely are in a better place now than we were six months ago."

Sammi nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "About the things you've gone through. And losing your friend."

Tommy nodded in acknowledgment, looking down at his sandwich. "Thanks," he replied. "I can't relate to your struggle exactly, but I have my own and I can understand where you're coming from. And I can definitely attest to the fact that there _is_ life after that."

Sammi looked at him across the table. It was the first time they'd made eye contact since they sat down. "You might be right," she said quietly. They continued to eat in silence for a while, then Sammi cleared her throat. "I wanted to finish the story from last night," she said. "I realize I didn't tell you everything."

Tommy merely looked at her, waiting.

She explained what had happened to her attacker, about the rape kit pulling his DNA, and how he'd been caught shortly after her attack. He'd been at Riker's Island in New York ever since, awaiting his trial in the extremely slow-moving judicial system.

"Well, that's a good thing," Tommy said slowly, studying the look of discontentment on her face. "Right?"

"It is," she agreed. "I mean, yes, it is. It's just – I thought my role in this was all over." She pulled an envelope from her bag slowly, and handed it to him across the table. "Then I got this in the mail last week."

Tommy took the certified letter's envelope and reached inside, pulling out a sheet of folded paper. He skimmed it quickly and read her subpoena to appear in court next month at one Jackson James' trial. He glanced up at her over the edge of the sheet.

"They can't arrest you or anything if you don't actually testify," he said, folding the paper and slipping it back into the envelope. "They can't force you." He handed it back.

"I know," she replied, taking the envelope and stuffing it back into her bag. "My lawyer told me the same thing, since I was the victim of the assault. But he also said that of the women that James has done this to, I'm the only survivor. My testimony could potentially put him away for longer than he might get without testimony. The prosecution is going for life."

Tommy looked at her carefully. "And what do you think about that?" he asked her neutrally.

Sammi sighed. What, indeed? "I don't want to do this," she admitted quietly. "I don't want to sit in a courtroom with him, in the same room as him, where he can look at me and think about me and remember what he did to me." She bit her lip. "But then I think about those women, the ones who _didn't _get up and walk away, and I feel like I have to do it for them, and their families and their friends." She paused again, staring at a spot on his desk. "I would have wanted the same thing done for me."

Tommy nodded slowly. "I think you're brave enough to handle that," he said.

Sammi scoffed. "You joking?" she demanded. "Where have you been the last month?"

Tommy shrugged. "I saw you get attacked in this very same gym, and then come back shortly after that anyway," he said. "I've seen you battle through your anxiety issues, face down a crowd of drunken assholes and walk through them even though you were scared. I've seen you take your own well-being into your own hands, with coming to the gym, taking up boxing. You live by yourself, you take care of yourself, and you're still working toward your dreams." Tommy lifted his eyebrows at her. "That takes balls, in my opinion. You might be struggling emotionally, but you've picked yourself back up. Try to think of this trial as one last 'fuck you, you didn't break me'."

"But maybe he did," Sammi replied.

Tommy shook his head. "No way," he said firmly. "I see you," he added. "I don't know you well, but I know balls when I see them."

The statement was so funny, sounded so wrong to both their ears, that they burst out laughing. As Sammi quieted down, she weighed his words and flushed under his praise.

"We'll see," she said. "I've still got a little while to decide." Tommy nodded. Sammi folded her lips inward, studying him, casting about for a new subject. "I don't think I told you," she began, almost shyly. "But, I'm quitting Cliff's. This is my last weekend working there."

Tommy's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really?" he asked. "I thought you need all thirty million of your jobs."

Sammi chuckled. "I'm getting closer to my goal," she said proudly. "And to be honest, three jobs are just too much. I like my 'me' time and it feels like I never get any. And I hate working nights, and _weekend _nights at that, and downtown. It has to go."

"Well, good," he said. "If you're happy, I'm happy."

She glanced at her watch. She had enough time to get home and squeeze in an hour nap before she had to start getting ready for her shift.

"Well, I better be going," she said lightly.

He rose with her. "Thanks for the food," he said. "You did not need to do that. I appreciate it."

She smiled and lifted a shoulder. "Anytime," she replied. "Like I said, I feel like I sort of owed you."

He held up a hand, waving her off. "Stop with that shit," he said, but gave her a half-smile to take the sting out of his words. "You don't owe me anything." He opened his office door and walked with her through the gym. Several women instantly had disappointed and jealous looks on their faces at the sight of them together, Sammi noted.

"Looks like your fan club isn't happy to see you with me," she commented as they passed through the gym.

Tommy shrugged, staring straight ahead. "Not worried about them," he replied. He pushed open the front door and a cool, misty blast of air hit them. "You taking the bus home?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied. "I need to get in a nap before work. I'm exhausted."

"Must have been all that snoring last night," Tommy teased gently, and Sammi whirled to look at him.

"Excuse me?" she demanded. "I don't snore."

"Right, of course," Tommy said. "My mistake. Of course you don't. That must have been Rocky."

"Rocky _does _snore," Sammi insisted. "So, _yeah_. It probably _was."_

Tommy smirked and nodded. "Sure. Blame the cat."

Sammi sputtered and shoved his shoulder. "I do not snore!" she said. She smiled. "Jerk."

He smiled back, a rare, real smile, and it made Sammi bold enough to step forward and wrap her arms around his torso. It was still new, still felt somewhat alien, but at the same time, it was so _nice _and it was getting easier. Plus, he was warm, and solid, and smelled amazingly. She felt his arms slip around her and reveled in the way he slowly gathered her into himself, his arms tightening around her in such a way that made her feel safe and secure.

"Be safe," he said in her ear. "Have a good night."

"You, too," she breathed, pressing her cheek lightly to his. She stepped away as her bus pulled up and started to climb the steps when the doors hissed open.

"Hey," he called, and she turned.

"Yes?" she called back, curious.

"Don't forget to text me what I need to know about Sunday," he replied, referencing the family dinner. Sammi groaned aloud and slapped a hand to her forehead. "Yeah, you're not getting rid of me that easy," Tommy added, smirking at her. She waved him off and took her seat. She glanced at him out of the window as the bus pulled off. He remained on the sidewalk for a moment, then turned slowly and headed back inside the gym.

Sammi turned around in her seat to face forward, staring out the other window, allowing a real smile of pleasure to cross her face as she stared off into the distance.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"You ready for your last night?" Bunz teased the next morning. "Cliff's was a cushy job, yo. You sure you want to give all that lavishness up?"

Sammi laughed in disbelief. "Uh, if by 'lavishness' you mean dressing like a harlot with my tits on front street to be ogled over by drunk stock brokers and men in the heat of their mid-life crises, then yes. I am definitely _very_ ready to give all that up!"

She swiped at the counter and couldn't help grinning. Even though losing an entire source of income was scary, since she'd had it for so long, Sammi was ready to bid it good-bye. She was bound by blood to the café and teaching dance was her passion, so Cliff's was the only expendable option. Fortunately, it happened to be the one she really disliked. She liked her co-workers, and even Cliff could be all right on occasion, but working nights every weekend in skimpy clothing was not her style.

"We should make a night of it," Bunz said. "I'll bring Anthony down. You should call your crazy sisters. They might be married and moms and everything but as I recall, they know how to have a good time."

"Have a good time?" Sammi repeated. "Nik and Toni are fucking animals when they get a night away from the kids."

Bunz laughed. "That's why I love them so much. Let's see. Who else?" She barely paused for a nanosecond when false inspiration struck and she lifted a finger. "Ah!" she exclaimed. "That's right, it just came to me. You should call Tommy."

"Yeah," Sammi said sarcastically, pulling out large bags of full espresso beans to grind for the day. "I'll do that. Because he would love nothing more than to hang out with a bunch of crazy chicks."

"Well, tell him to bring his friends!" Bunz said cheerfully. "Like he did last time."

"B, he's training right now," Sammi insisted. "He's got to rest and take care of his body, and stuff."

"He'll be fine for a night," Bunz said dismissively. She pointed a finger at Sammi. "Call him, Samantha. I'm not playing." She headed back into the kitchen to resume working on her newest batch of cupcakes.

"For the last time, that's not my name!" Sammi bellowed after her.

"Yeah, yeah," Bunz called back, sounding faintly bored. "I'm not really sure what that has to do with me, though, Samantha. Now call the man."

Sammi muttered darkly under her breath and began to grind espresso beans into a fine blend. She pursed her lips as she considered Bunz's suggestion. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a night out that didn't involve working. She hadn't cut loose and blown off steam in an extremely long time. If she was being honest with herself, she hadn't really wanted to before; she'd always been content to spend her free nights at home watching movie marathons or reading and eating frozen yogurt with Rocky on her couch or in bed, if she was feeling especially indulgent.

But now, the thought of drinking and dancing with Bunz and her sisters and the girls from the bar made her smile a little. And the thought of Tommy being there made her smile more. She knew he wasn't the party-hardy type by any means, but any time spent around him was time well spent in her book and she dimpled at the thought that maybe she could pull him out of his shell a little bit.

The thought brought her up sharply and she actually stopped grinding the beans for a moment. She realized that Tommy had done a lot to bring _her_ out of her shell; it was one thing to be silly and loud with her family or Bunz but it was quite another to imagine having fun and being rambunctious and playful with anyone else, especially a guy. But she realized she'd changed a little over the past several weeks in a positive way, slowly but surely, and she knew that he had a lot to do with it.

She heaved a sigh and looked toward the kitchen for several long moments. As if she could sense it, Bunz called out to her.

"What da deal, doe?" she asked playfully and Sammi grinned and shook her head.

"Fine," Sammi called back. "I'm on it, I'm on it. You bitch."

"Trick," Bunz answered and Sammi chuckled. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and sighed. Even though she was feeling much more comfortable with herself and with Tommy, she still got "fluttery" when she thought about contacting him.

_"What are you doing tonight?"_ she typed out, eschewing any sort of polite morning salutation. After a few minutes, her phone buzzed with response.

_"Nothing special. What about you?"_

_"Last night working at Cliff's. Thinking of having some people come down to celebrate it. If you're not too busy, you should come down."_

_"Sure,"_ she read, feeling a smile spread across her face._ "Sounds good."_

:O:O:O:

Of all of Cliff's employees, Sammi was the first one to tender her resignation during her tenure there. Before she started her shift, she shared some teary good-byes with the other cocktail waitresses, girls she'd come to know well and like a lot. When she'd first started, she hadn't been sure how well she'd get along with them, knowing how catty women could be sometimes, but they had quickly banded together against the often-untoward and unsavory clientele. Cliff himself could even be a little too forward at times although he was generally a nice guy.

He had ordered a cake to celebrate Sammi's transition, and she was not only touched but impressed that he'd managed to find a beautifully decorated _tres leches_ cake, which was her favorite. The sweet, milk-soaked cake was covered in a light whipped cream frosting that had "Goodbye Sammi!" scrawled in elegant script across the top in purple frosting, with pink and purple lotus blossoms made of a heavier frosting in the corners.

"I want you to have fun tonight," Cliff had told her, clapping her on the shoulder and squeezing. "Work, play, make lots of tips. Drink and have fun! No stress tonight."

"Thanks, Cliff," Sammi had said, smiling at him. "I've really appreciated having this opportunity. Thanks for being such a great boss." She might have been stretching the truth with the last part, but she really did appreciate the cake and her send-off.

She enjoyed some cake with the other girls a half-hour before things started picking up, then went to the mirror to touch up her lipgloss. For her last night, she'd decided on a sweetheart-cut black leather peplum tube top over black shorts and simple black suede ankle boots with a black wooden ice cream cone heel. She'd added a chunky gold necklace and a gold men's watch and had even gotten a fresh manicure earlier that afternoon. It was the first time she'd actually recalled feeling cheerful while working at Cliff's, and she had to laugh a little at the notion that it was because it was her last night.

When she came out from the back, she saw Bunz and her sisters at the bar, grinning at her.

"Barkeep!" Bunz called, waving her over.

"Wench!" Nik shouted and Sammi rolled her eyes, sliding behind the bar.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, waving them off. "Let me guess - raspberry margarita, blended, sugar on the rim for Bunz, Cosmo for Nik because she can't let Sex and the City go, and Chardonnay for Toni." She lifted her brows at them and received another round of grins, and she knew she'd gotten them right.

"But first," Nik said dramatically, lifting a hand, "a round of shots, including one for our fair bar wench. Patron, if you please."

"Aw, man," Sammi groaned. "No! Anything else! Whiskey? Vodka? Jäger?"

"No," Nik said stubbornly. "Tequila!"

Sammi sighed heavily and poured out four shots of tequila and slid them around, then brought out a dish of freshly cut limes and a salt shaker. The girls all fixed up their hands with salt and lifted their shots into the air.

"To Sam," Nik said, smiling at her baby sister. "For making leaps and bounds and living this much closer to her dream."

"Hear, hear!" Toni exclaimed.

"Word," Bunz added with a nod.

Sammi smiled and waved dismissively. "Down the hatch."

Simultaneously, they licked the salt off their hands, downed their shots, and popped the limes in their mouths, each of their faces screwed up from the strength of the liquor.

Sammi shook her head quickly to focus, her tousled hair moving around her shoulders with the movement and set about to making all of their drinks.

"So, where's your man, B?" she called over her shoulder.

Bunz flicked her head toward a high-top table near the door. "Sitting off by his lonesome, nursing a beer." She smirked at Sammi. "Waiting for your man to get here so he can have some fellow testosterone."

"Well, if he's waiting on 'my man'," Sammi shot back, making quotations with her fingers, "he's going to be waiting a long time since I don't have one." She set their drinks before them.

"Here you go with that shit again," Bunz said, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, you mean Tommy?" Nik teased, nudging Bunz with her elbow. "Yeah. The whole family is very anxious to meet him tomorrow."

"Yeah, tonight doesn't count," Toni chimed in. "I'll be nice when he gets here but the gloves come off tomorrow."

"Oh, come on, Toni," Sammi whined. "You guys seem to forget I'm not seventeen anymore!"

"You will always be the baby," Nik said evenly. "And as your big sisters, we are obligated to torture and torment every guy that's unfortunate enough to fall for you."

"Oh, he's fallen, all right," Bunz said firmly.

"What?" Toni demanded. "What's that mean? Are they sleeping together?" She looked at Sammi. "Are you sleeping together?"

"What?" Nik chimed in. She glared at Sammi. "When did that happen?"

"No!" Sammi insisted, patting the air. "You guys, chill! We're not sleeping together, for God's sake. We've never even kissed."

"Why not?" Bunz exclaimed. "Have you _seen_ those lips? I don't even really like white boys like that, but his lips are off the chain. I'd take some of that."

"B!" Sammi exclaimed, laughing at her friend's outrageousness.

"I have to agree with that," Nik added. "He does have amazing lips."

"Oh, I'm sure Vince would be so pleased to hear that," Sammi said sarcastically, then realized that her brother-in-law just might, being that he was obsessed with MMA and was a big fan of Tommy's.

"He doesn't like the Red Sox, does he?" Toni asked suspiciously. "You know Daddy will _not_ like that."

"I don't know," Sammi asked, mystified. "What does that matter?"

"What does that matter?" Nik repeated, amazed. "Are you kidding me?"

"Did you not grow up in the Carnevale household?" Toni added.

Sammi waved her hand impatiently. "I know Dad loves the Yankees," she said, "but I just don't think he would let that sway his opinion of some guy -"

"Do you remember David Morelli?" Nik interrupted.

Sammi vaguely recalled her oldest sister's high school boyfriend. "I guess," she replied with a shrug. "What the hell does that -"

"We broke up right before prom," Nik said, "because Daddy found out he was a Sox fan. Okay? He's very serious about it."

"Well, I'll be sure to coach him on the acceptable sports teams in the family," Sammi retorted.

"Do that," Nik said evenly, sipping her Cosmo with gusto.

"Meanwhile, I believe it's time for another round of shots!" Bunz exclaimed, looking at Sammi pointedly. She groaned as her sisters took up the chorus and reluctantly retrieved the bottle of tequila from the shelf and four fresh shot glasses.

"Make it five," Toni called. "You're taking two! One right after the other."

"What are you guys doing to me!" Sammi exclaimed, pouring out a fifth shot. She kept two and slid the remaining three toward her sisters and Bunz.

"Wait, us first," Nik said and she, Toni and Bunz quickly downed their tequila. She turned her big brown eyes on her baby sister and smiled mischievously. "All right, Baby Doll. It's all you!"

Sammi sighed and quickly downed the two shots quickly, eschewing salt and limes as she gulped down the fiery liquor. She swallowed hard and tried to keep a straight face.

"Hey, Carnevale!" she heard a voice call and glanced over. She felt a slow smile spread over her face as she saw Fenroy leaning over the bar, grinning at her. Behind him, she saw Leon, Brendan, and Tommy. His full lips slowly pulled into a half smile when they locked eyes.

"What is this?" Fenroy exclaimed. "Drinking on the job?"

"Blame these heathens," Sammi said, gesturing toward her sisters and Bunz. "And my boss. They've insisted on sending me out of here with a bang!"

"I don't believe we've met," Fenroy said smoothly, turning to the other girls. "Fenroy. Tommy's second-in-command."

"Nice to meet you," Toni replied. "I'm the older sister."

"I'm the old_est_ sister," Nik added, giving Fenroy's hand a delicate shake.

"And I'm the best friend," Bunz said, taking Fenroy's proffered hand next.

"Mm," Fen said, smiling at them indulgently. "Such beautiful ladies. Birds of a feather."

"Where's the man of the hour?" Toni demanded, trying to peer around Fenroy.

Hearing his cue, Tommy made his way past his brother and Leon to offer Toni his hand. "Hi, I'm Tommy." He caught Bunz's eye and gave her a wave, which she returned with a smile.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware of that," Toni replied, her eyes moving over him appraisingly. "Nice to meet you, finally."

"You must be Toni," Tommy said politely.

"That's me," Toni said, sipping demurely at her wine. "I would grill you now, but it can wait until tomorrow. I don't want to scare you off before you come over."

"Uh - thank you," Tommy said, bobbing his head in appreciation while shooting Sammi a quick wink.

"Okay, okay, Toni," Nik said, pressing her sister's arm. She smiled charmingly at Tommy. "It's good to see you again," she said graciously.

"Thanks, you too," he replied. "So are you also going to wait to read me the riot act?"

"Of course," Nik said. "I prefer to let my victims squirm." She smiled innocently and Tommy laughed out loud.

"Hey, I get it," he said, lifting his hands in the air. "I like overprotective siblings."

"Speaking of siblings," Nik said, nodding toward Brendan. "Are you going to introduce him?"

"Oh, sorry," Tommy said hurriedly, reaching behind him for his brother's shoulder.

"What's with you forgetting about me all the time?" Brendan demanded, then smiled at Sammi's sisters, reaching out to shake their hands, then reached for Bunz's hand. "It seems to happen around beautiful women, apparently."

His compliments went over well, and conversation quickly fell underway. Anthony made his way over to Bunz's side, and the group began chatting animatedly.

Sammi drifted in and out of their conversation as the crowd at the bar picked up. Between her sisters and Bunz, and the clientele that found out it was her last night, Sammi was plied with various shots and drinks. She had a good, strong head for liquor and could usually drink more than the average woman of her height and weight but she was definitely starting to feel the shots. But she was having fun, more fun than she'd ever had at Cliff's, and in her drunken haze she wondered if she was making a mistake by quitting.

_Too late now, _she thought with a shake of her head. She knew she didn't really mean it. She glanced over at the group of her friends and family, smiling as she saw that everyone was talking animatedly. Her sisters seemed to be on their best friendly behavior although she knew that tomorrow they'd read Tommy "the riot act", as he'd phrased it.

Her eyes strayed to him, leaning on the bar, listening quietly to Brendan relay a humorous story from their childhood. She cocked her head, wondering if it was a true story now that she knew more about the circumstances under which they had been raised. She assumed it was since Tommy had a slight smile on his face as he listened, a smile that seemed genuinely amused. She noticed also, pouring out a glass of red wine for a woman in front of her, that he looked incredibly good, dressed in a charcoal gray button-up, the sleeves pushed to his thick, powerful forearms, and dark jeans. She suddenly felt wetness on her hand and realized she had overfilled the wine glass and it sluiced down the sides.

"Shit!" she hissed, stopping herself. She grabbed a fresh glass and poured it out properly, serving it with an apologetic smile. She glanced over again and saw that while Tommy's face was still tilted toward the bar as it had been while he listened to Brendan, his eyes had lifted to Sammi and he'd caught her slipping. He flashed her a quick, full smile, letting her know he'd seen the whole thing, and then looked away.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur as Sammi worked the bar and downed more shots from the patrons. An hour before closing, Cliff came out to replace her behind the bar and told her to go have fun. The DJ started playing all her favorite music, and she took to the dance floor with her sisters and Bunz. A few of the waitresses stopped in their duties occasionally to dance with her. Sammi felt completely exuberant as she danced, tilting back her head to laugh, spinning as the room spun. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. As she finished a turn, her eyes fell on Tommy once again and she licked her lips. She knew of only one way to end such a great evening properly.

:O:O:O:

Tommy leaned against the bar and sipped at his club soda with lime, his eyes glued to Sammi as she danced with her sisters and her friends on the small dance floor in front of the DJ booth. He knew that Fen and Leon and his brother and Bunz's boyfriend Anthony were conversing around him but he couldn't focus on anything they were saying. He couldn't focus on anything but the way Sammi looked when she danced.

He'd seen her dance before, at the studio. That had been for art, for her showcase piece. The dancing she was doing now was purely for fun and it was so much sexier. It wasn't sexy in a salacious way; she was clearly just having fun. But every move her body made was rhythmic, graceful, smooth. It was a huge turn-on, and moreover, he'd never seen her let go in such a way before, and he found it really refreshing.

His eyes slid down her body, and he felt a strange pang of guilt in doing so. The night at her apartment was fresh in his mind, her obvious cry for help, for a friend. He shouldn't be thinking of her that way.

As the DJ wrapped up his set, the girls all started moving back toward them. He narrowed his eyes and could tell by the way she swayed slightly in her tall heels that Sammi was pretty drunk. He was actually surprised at her dexterity, considering all the shots she'd had poured down her throat. She could obviously drink.

"We're taking off," Nik was telling her sister. "We've got kids and everything."

"Aw, you're so lame," Sammi said, pouting. She smiled then and embraced her sisters.

"How are you getting home?" Toni demanded.

"Bunz, or something," Sammi replied vaguely.

Tommy glanced at Bunz, who was currently being nuzzled by her boyfriend. By the looks of things, she wasn't going to be too keen on playing chauffeur again.

Sammi hugged her sisters again, then Nik turned toward him. She smiled.

"Good seeing you again," she said brightly. "See you at dinner tomorrow."

"Yeah, sleep tight," Toni chimed in. "You'll need it." They both smiled sweetly and slipped out into the night.

He felt Brendan's hand clamp down on his shoulder. "Those are some scary chicks," he said. "Good luck tomorrow. I'm heading out."

"Can I get a minute?" Tommy exclaimed. "You know, since I drove and everything."

Brendan laughed. "I meant, I'm taking a cab."

Tommy stared at him. "Why the hell would you do that?" he asked, mystified.

Brendan glanced at Sammi, who was hugging some of the cocktail waitresses goodbye and frowned, jerking his head toward her. "Take the lady home, man," Brendan said softly, then clapped Tommy on the shoulder before leaving the lounge.

Tommy stood uncertainly, then caught Bunz's eye and flicked his head toward her. They each took a step toward the other.

"Hey, I can take her home," Tommy said.

Bunz eyed him suspiciously. "She's pretty drunk. I should make sure she gets home okay."

"I got it," Tommy insisted gently. "It's no problem."

"Baby, let the man take her home," Anthony said, appearing behind her, clasping her shoulders and leaning into her neck. Tommy smirked.

Bunz glanced at her boyfriend through heavily lidded eyes then turned back to Tommy.

"If you're sure," she said, still somewhat uncertain. Tommy nodded. Bunz shrugged and moved toward Sammi to speak into her ear. Sammi's eyes cut toward him as she listened to Bunz, then she nodded and reached out to hug her friend, her eyes still on him. Unless he was mistaken, it looked like her dark eyes went even darker as she looked at him.

After Bunz and Anthony left, Sammi walked up to him. She tilted her head back and shook her head slightly, the ripples traveling the length of her shiny dark hair cascading down her back. He was mesmerized by it, and her lips curled into a smile as she followed his eyes.

"So, you're my chauffeur," she said, wobbling just a little in her shoes. "Hope your brother doesn't mind his car going all the way out to Little Italy again."

Tommy smirked at her and popped a toothpick in his mouth. "It's not his car going to Little Italy. It's mine. And he took a cab home."

She watched him chew the toothpick, her eyes widening slightly. "You have a car?" she repeated. "Since when?"

"Since a few months ago," Tommy replied.

"Well...why do you always take the bus and the train then?"

"Saves gas and money," he replied. "Plus parking anywhere in this city is a bitch." He nodded toward the door as he saw her eyes lose their focus a little. "Why don't you get your stuff and I'll take you back home. You, uh...you hit it a little hard tonight."

She smiled, then giggled. "I did, didn't I?" she exclaimed. "I'll be right back." He watched her teeter off toward the back, stumbling in her heels.

He knew what had happened the last time he'd left her to go get the car, and he didn't want to risk putting her through that again. He waited patiently by the door for her, chewing on his toothpick, until she reappeared from the back, tugging a long black cardigan around herself, a bag slung over her shoulder. She crossed the room toward him.

"We gotta go," she said thickly. "I can't take any more goodbyes."

He chuckled and gave her his arm for balance as they headed out into the night. "I didn't know this was all so emotional for you."

"Me either," she said. "I'm not sure why it's so hard now."

"Maybe all that tequila had something to do with it," he joked, cringing away when he felt her elbow in his ribs sharply. He led her across the street where his black Dodge Charger was parked.

"How predictable," she teased. He smirked and opened her door for her, making a mock bow as she moved past him to drop into the seat. "Thanks."

As he drove, he felt her eyes on him. He glanced over briefly and caught her smoky brown eyes locked on him and traveling slowly down his body.

"What's up?" he asked lightly.

"Nothing," she replied, her voice suddenly low and velvety. The tone made his ears prick with curiosity. He kept his eyes front the rest of the trip but knew she was still watching him.

He pulled up to her building and got out to go around and open her door, but he was halfway around the hood of his car when her door opened and she got out, dragging her bag behind her.

"Walk me to my door?" she asked in that same low tone. Tommy was confused; of course he would walk her to her door. Didn't he always?

"Of course," he replied. Her hand slipped around his elbow again and they took to the stairs toward her floor. He cleared his throat to speak and then suddenly grabbed her arm when she slipped a little.

"You okay?" he asked, and she laughed.

"Yes," she replied. "Just a little tipsy I guess."

She was slurring slightly, and he tightened his hold on her to make sure she cleared the rest of the stairs. They moved down the hallway toward her door, and when they reached it, she turned around and leaned her back on it, grinning at him.

He cleared his throat again and hesitantly returned her smile, nearly jumping when he felt her hands slide up his chest suddenly.

"What - what are you doing?" he asked quietly, one of his hands closing around hers and stopping its movement.

"Nothing," she whispered back, her other hand sliding higher to wrap around his neck. He felt her tug slightly and found himself leaning toward her as she brought her face to his, her full pink lips parted slightly.

He almost did it, but at the very last second, with every ounce of willpower he had, he turned his head and her moist lips landed on his cheek. He realized he was gripping the doorframe and at her little growl of frustration and want, he tightened his hold.

"Tommy," she whined in a whisper, her hand coming to rest on his cheek and trying to turn his face toward hers. He felt the whisper of her breath against his lips as she tried again. And again, it took all of his strength to pull gently away. This time he reached up and took her wrist in his other hand.

"Sammi," he said quietly. "Come on. You're wasted."

"Maybe so," she replied. "But I'm not too drunk to know that I want you." She pulled her wrist from his grasp, his hand too willing and eager to let it go, and this time she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled her face closer. Her lips brushed his before he took a step back, breaking her hold.

"Don't," he said gently. "Not like this."

"Don't you want to kiss me?" she asked, leaning her head back against the door.

"Not if it means taking advantage of the fact that you're drunk," he replied. "Let's go inside."

Wordlessly she turned her back and dug through her purse until she came up with her keys. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and wondered if he was crazy. A gorgeous, sexy girl he was getting to be quite fond of had thrown herself at him, told him she wanted him, and he was saying no? He almost reconsidered, almost grabbed her then and pressed her against the door, but then the image of her cut ankle passed through his mind, the image of her tears, and he shook his head. She didn't need someone to sleep with; she needed a friend. And he would be that friend, even if it killed him.

She finally got the door unlocked and almost fell through it when it opened. He grabbed the back of her sweater to keep her from falling and then hauled her in to grasp her waist.

"All right," he murmured. "Time for bed." He was used to putting drunk people to bed - his father, some Marine buddies; he'd had more than enough experience but he felt protective over Sammi rather than the annoyance he usually felt in situations like these.

"Hey, Rocky," he said, spotting the cat curled up on the blanket draped over the back of the couch. As if in answer, Rocky gave a wide yawn, showing off his long, sharp canines, and then made a tiny squeaking, chirping noise that Tommy took as a form of greeting.

"Just puttin' your mom to bed," he added to the cat, before steering Sammi into her bedroom.

"You talkin' to my cat?" she mumbled over her shoulder.

"I did," he affirmed, then leaned her against the wall of her room. He turned toward her bed to remove the pile of small, decorative pillows and drop them on the floor. Then he pulled her comforter back. He turned back around to face her and his jaw dropped.

Sammi had taken off her cardigan and kicked off her boots, and was in the process of unzipping her leather tube top. She slowly pulled it from her body, her eyes not leaving his, and dropped it on the floor. She wore a strapless lacy black bra underneath. Her hands moved to the waistband of her shorts and she unbuttoned then unzipped them.

Tommy was momentarily frozen, unable to resist the carnal part of himself and do anything more than watch, but when she started to slowly inch her shorts over her hips, and he caught the sight of a matching black lace thong, he snapped out of it.

"Sam!" he exclaimed, averting his eyes. "Stop."

"Tommy, I'm trying to let you know you can have this," she said, letting her shorts drop off her legs. She stepped out of them and toward him, and as soon as her hands landed on him, his body stirred to life immediately. He shifted uncomfortably as his pants started to grow tight, just below his waist.

"I know you want it," she whispered and pressed against him, taking one of his hands and wrapping it around her back, letting it settle on her hip. His fingers grazed the lace of her underwear and the smooth, soft skin of the top of her rear end. His body surged at the sensation, and he stepped back from her, still keeping his gaze off her. If he looked at her, he was dead. He knew he would slam her into the mattress and take her like she was all but begging him to do right now.

_She's drunk,_ he told himself firmly. _You're better than this._

"Sammi, go to bed," he said abruptly. "Come on. You're blitzed. You don't even know what you're saying right now."

Her hands slipped down to his shirt and started to slowly pop open the buttons. With each button undone, his resolve began to weaken, little by little.

"Sure I do," she whispered into his neck, and he actually shivered. He bit back the curse that bubbled to his lips at the sensation and sighed, gathering his willpower. He closed his hands around her waist, lifted her bodily, and slammed her onto the bed. Her hazy, slightly bloodshot eyes widened a little and she started to smile. The smile quickly disappeared when he yanked the covers over her, still not allowing himself to take a real look at her body, and tucked the blankets in tightly around her.

"Are you serious?" she demanded, staring up at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Sam, I'm not going to do this with you while you're drunk," he said softly, looking down at her. He had to bite back a smile at the look of drunken fury on her face as the covers violently shifted as she sat up.

"What, am I not good enough or something?" she demanded. "'Cause I'm not one of those plastic bitches from your fan club?"

"You're actually perfect," he replied calmly. "I just have way too much respect for you to do this when you're wasted."

"Yeah?" she barreled on, obviously not really hearing him. "Well, fuck you!"

"Good night, Sam," he said gently. "See you tomorrow." He turned for the door.

"You're not invited anymore!" she bellowed after him, and her alarm clock came sailing over his shoulder, just clearing it. Rocky heard the noise and shot past Tommy's legs and onto her bed.

He glanced back at her, taking in the covers clutched to her chest and her tousled, wild hair. His hand closed over the doorknob and he gave her a wistful half-smile.

"Yeah, I am," he said softly. Her chest heaved with rage. "Good night."

He could still hear her cussing at him as he shut the door behind him and left her apartment. Once he was outside, he blew a hard breath between his lips as he climbed behind the wheel of his car. He'd tried not to look, but he couldn't get the image of her in her black lace bra and thong with her smudged eye makeup and tousled hair out of his brain, and his body wasn't letting him forget it, either.

"I deserve a medal for that shit," he muttered to himself, then started the car and headed for home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note - quick shoutout to all my homies for all the love and support for this story - I truly appreciate it and all of you.**

**Chapter 14**

Sammi woke up with a splitting headache and, for a blessed few moments, no recollection of the previous evening.

She tried to sit up off of automatic reflex and as a sharp, shooting pain assaulted her head, she fell back against her pillows, groaning. She brought a shaky hand to her forehead as she swallowed against the nausea rising in her throat. After a few deep breaths, the nausea passed and she laid very still, her hand clamped over her eyes to keep the daylight out of them.

She needed water and aspirin, and a cup of strong, black coffee, so after mustering up her strength, she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shoved the comforter back and rose unsteadily to her feet, noting that the clock that normally sat on her nightstand was missing when she checked the time. She took one step and realized she was practically naked. She gasped and looked down, seeing her black strapless bra was askew and she was in nothing else but a black lace thong. Her eyes flew to the pile of clothes and shoes by the wall and her mind raced, trying to recall the blur that had been the night before. She'd worked her last shift at Cliff's. Her sisters and Bunz had plied her with shots. And they had danced. Then Tommy had brought her home.

That brought her up sharply and she clapped a hand to her mouth as more memories flooded her. She vaguely recalled trying to kiss him outside her apartment, and she remembered him practically carrying her to her bedroom. She remembered looking at his back while he pulled off her pillows and then...

She groaned aloud as she remembered stripping in front of him.

After another moment, she took a deep breath. It was coming back to her now – he had repeatedly turned her down and finally had bodily placed her in bed. When she opened her bedroom door, she saw the clock on the floor in the hallway. She stared at it for several long seconds, feeling utter confusion.

"Because you _threw it at him_," she hissed to herself as the memory finally flashed in her mind. Sudden recollection of shouting curses at him made her cringe. And she'd cursed at him and thrown the clock at him...all because he'd _refused_ to sleep with her.

She heaved a sigh of relief and brought the clock back to her nightstand. She reached for a T-shirt and yoga pants and rubbed her hands over her face, perching on the edge of her bed to collect her thoughts. She was incredibly grateful that Tommy had decided not to capitalize on her extreme drunkenness from the night before and she felt a surge of admiration, appreciation and even affection for him. On the heels of that thought, sheer mortification and humiliation overtook her and for a moment she thought again that she might throw up, or start crying.

_Oh, my God_, she thought, panicked. What must he think of her now? Between the confession of her past the other night and now her sexual forwardness from last night, he had to be completely fed up with, confused, and turned off by her. What sort of message was she sending, especially to him? Granted, no one had been around to see her behavior toward him _except_ him, but that was worst of all. Her face burned with shame and self-loathing. She had never been one to blame things on alcohol, but she normally tried to make a point to stay away from alcohol harder than wine for a reason; hard liquor always hit her much too hard and had resulted in some bad decisions over the years. After college she'd given it up, although that hadn't been public knowledge. She shouldn't have thought she was out of the woods last night or free from the hard-hitting effects of strong liquor; she clearly wasn't, and she'd just made a hugely enormous fool out of herself.

She knew that a drunken mind tended to speak the truth, and if she were being honest with herself, she _did_ want Tommy. She was attracted to him, he was the first truly nice person of the opposite sex outside her family she'd met in almost a year, and there was something about him that made her want to be around him all the time. However, her presentation was completely out of line, and not true to herself in any manner. She felt sick when she thought that her actions from the previous night negated the cathartic release of unburdening her pain the other night. How seriously could he take her now? And if he _had _taken her up on her offer…she knew she would have woken up this morning feeling a thousand times worse, because she would have lost all respect for them both.

She spent a long moment bent over, her hands on her knees, staring at the carpet, allowing the full embarrassment and shame of her behavior from the night before to settle over her, so she could come to terms with it and begin to move past it. Finally, she got up with a heavy sigh and walked out of the bedroom, Rocky at her feet. She put the coffee on and fed her cat, then swallowed a few aspirin, gulping down some water. She leaned over the counter and gripped the edge, staring at the coffee and waiting impatiently for it to finish its brew.

As she sipped at an enormous cup of black coffee that she generously laced with sugar, she glanced at the clock and noted that she'd slept in extremely late. Family dinners were usually around four o'clock and it was almost noon now. She still needed to go to the market and come back and make the dishes she'd been assigned; this week, she was in charge of a _caprese_ salad and a dessert. Then there was the daunting task of pulling herself together and making herself look halfway human so as not to rouse her parents' suspicion.

She realized she'd never let Tommy know the time of the dinner. For a moment, she wondered if she should even bother telling him; it was pretty presumptuous on her part to assume that he was still interested in coming given her behavior over the last couple of days. In fact, if she were to presume anything, it would be that he was officially finished with her and her bullshit. She definitely owed him an apology, however, and she would make sure he received one. But for now, the memory of the night before was too strong in her mind, making her feel still too sick, that she couldn't bring herself to contact him just yet.

She gulped down the rest of her coffee and followed it up with a slice of dry toast, then struggled into jeans and a T-shirt to go to the market. She decided to walk; it was a typical cloudy, misty spring morning, which she enjoyed. She strolled along the aisles of the fresh, small grocer; it was her favorite in the city. It was dimly lit with wall sconces offering a soft, homey glow, and the floors were wooden. The shelves carried unique items that supermarkets tended not to carry, as well as a bakery with the freshest items, and a seafood counter and deli with the choicest cuts of meat and fish.

She was in the dairy section, considering her options for fresh mozzarella when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She dropped her final choice into her basket and pulled the phone out, and surprise and a slight sense of dismay went through her at the sight of the number. It was Tommy.

"_Good morning. Didn't want to risk waking you – just wanted to know what time I should be over."_

Sammi was floored. He still wanted to come? A thousand different replies went through her head. She wanted to say more, so much more, but since he hadn't addressed the previous night, she thought she had better steer clear of it, too. Besides – it was only right she apologize to him face to face.

"_Good morning. It's at four. You can just come to my place and then we can walk over."_

"_Sounds good. See you then. Should I bring anything?"_

_"__Just yourself…and a big appetite."_

_"__No problem. Later."_

She didn't know how to feel about it; perhaps, she told herself, he was just that good of a person, someone who followed through with things even if he was otherwise done with the situation. He knew that he was expected and he intended to be responsible and show up. There was just simply no other feasible explanation.

She thought again of the previous night and winced, slapping a hand to her forehead and drawing the stare of the woman next to her at the cheese display. Sammi glanced over at her, her hand still cupped around her forehead and offered a weak smile before turning and walking away. She gathered the rest of the items she needed and zipped through the checkout line, then headed home. Rocky met her at the door, his tailed curled like a question mark by way of greeting and she scratched his head quickly before heading into the kitchen to set her bags down. She was making tiramisu for dessert, and by the time it was completed it would only have a few hours to chill in her refrigerator before she brought it over. The _caprese_ salad could be thrown together at the last minute.

Once the tiramisu had been put together, she popped the dish into the refrigerator and checked the time. She had a couple of hours before dinner, so she decided a nice long soak in the bathtub was called for. She ran the water as hot as she could stand and added some scented bath salts, then stripped and submerged herself, and promptly fell asleep. She dreamed she was back working at Cliff's, except her job now was to dance in her underwear on the bar while the clientele sprayed her with tequila.

She woke abruptly with a jerk, sending water splashing over the edge of the tub and sending Rocky scampering out of the bathroom when a few droplets hit his back. "Sorry," she called after him. She reached for her phone on the toilet to check the time and was horrified to see that she had only forty minutes to pull herself together. She frantically drained the tub and turned on the shower head just long enough to wash her hair as quickly as possible and scrub herself with a loofah doused in cucumber-melon scented body wash, cursing to herself the entire time. She wrapped her damp hair in a towel and raced into her bedroom, quickly dressing in a pair of jeans, a ruffled, bright yellow tank top and a cropped white cardigan. She stepped into a pair of leopard print flats and ran back into the bathroom, towel drying her hair as she went.

She heard a knock on her door just as she was finishing with her hair. Though it was generally straight, it was long and thick and had the tendency to be unruly and therefore required some additional attention. She finished taming it and swiped her lips with clear pink strawberry-flavored gloss she'd gotten for a quarter in Chinatown and hurried to the door, glancing at her watch. He was ten minutes early.

She pulled the door open after undoing her locks, her stomach tensing with apprehension. She glanced up at him, noting how nice he looked in jeans, newer-looking tennis shoes and a lightweight knit pullover in a pewter blue color that almost perfectly matched his eyes. He held something in his hand, what looked to be a long, slim printed bag.

"Hi," she said shyly, her face burning again. Her heart rate increased and she felt anxiety clawing at her throat.

"Hey," he replied easily, as if nothing had happened. He stepped into her apartment as she moved back a little more. "How you feelin'?"

"Um…utterly ashamed of myself and embarrassed, for starters, and thank you for asking," she replied bitingly as she locked the door. She heard him chuckle behind her. "It's actually _not_ funny."

He shook his head, smiling slightly still. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughin' at you."

"Listen, _I'm_ sorry," she began, feeling a little tension leak out since he seemed to find the whole thing funny. "I was – I was way out of line last night."

"Stop," he said. "Shit happens."

"Shit happens," she agrees, "but that was on a whole other level. That was not – I don't act – I'm not _like –_"

"Forget about it," he interrupted, and met her gaze with a half-smile. "Seriously. No hard feelings. Not even for throwing your alarm clock at me and cussing me out and disinviting me to dinner."

She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "Yeah. Sorry about all of that."

He laughed again. "I'm just givin' you shit. I seriously am not worried about any of it."

She swallowed, looking up at him. She wanted to say more, but decided that it was best to leave well enough alone for now. "Okay. I have to make this _caprese_ salad really quick then we can go. What's that?" She pointed to the bag he carried.

He lifted it and reached inside, and halfway drew out a bottle of red wine. "I thought your family might like it."

"Oh, thanks. That was nice of you. What kind is it?" she asked curiously, reaching out to take the bottle. The label read "Montepulciano d'Abruzzo". She glanced back up at him, lifting an eyebrow.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately. "No good? I don't drink wine, so I just went off the guy at the store's recommendation."

"No," she replied. "This is actually my mother's favorite red wine. And mine."

"Oh, good," he said with nod. "It was a wild guess."

She handed the bottle back to him with a smile. "Pretty amazing wild guess," she commented, heading into her kitchen and pulling out the ingredients for the salad. She put it together in record time and placed it in a glass bowl with a lid. Then she reached into refrigerator to pull out the dish of chilled tiramisu. She placed the lid on that dish and stacked the salad on top, then added a small plastic container. Tommy watched as she gathered everything into her arms.

"You got it?" he asked. "Need some help?"

"No, I got it, thanks," she replied. "You can get the door."

He held the door for her as she stepped past, careful not to trip on the carpet as she was often prone to do.

"What have you got there?" he asked, nodding to the large dish on the bottom as he pulled her door closed behind them and used her keys to lock up.

"Tiramisu," she replied. "And these are chocolate shavings to add later."

"Impressive," he commented.

"I hope you're hungry," Sammi said, her voice a warning. "My mother will take it as a personal insult if you don't eat a lot."

"No worries there," he said easily. "Far be it from me to insult the chef."

Sammi couldn't take it anymore. "Why are you so calm?" she demanded.

"Why are _you _so wound up?" he immediately returned, lifting his scarred eyebrow at her.

"Because I _know_ them," she said. "I know what they're capable of, I've seen what they can do –"

Tommy laughed again and shook his head. "Sorry. Not laughin' at you. Just – you talk about your family like they're violent insurgents or criminals or somethin'."

Sammi briefly considered his words and decided he might not be totally off-base with that comment. "I have seen what each of my sisters has gone through; I've _participated_ in what they've gone through – now it's my turn. They're ready for payback."

"Just relax, Sammi," he said, nudging her gently with his elbow. "Let's just have a good time. I'm looking forward to meeting your family."

She looked up at him doubtfully, but let the matter rest. They moved across the open courtyard in the middle of the apartment complex and up the stairs toward her parents' unit. Tommy stood behind her, calmly holding the stack of dishes she handed off to him while she knocked on the door. She could already hear the loud voices of her uncle and father dominating whatever conversation was being had.

Finally the door opened and her mother stood in the doorway. "Sammi!" she exclaimed as though it had been a hundred years since they'd seen each other, instead of just over twenty-four hours. She kissed her daughter's cheek. "Honey. You're late!"

"_Five minutes_, Ma," Sammi said exasperatedly. "I was trying to make sure the _caprese_ salad was fresh." She turned and took the dishes from Tommy.

"Yeah, yeah," her mother muttered, pushing her inside by the shoulder. She beamed at Tommy and held out her hands. "And you must be Tommy." He offered his hand but she ignored it and gently took his face into her hands instead, touching her cheeks to each of his. Sammi hid a smile at the look of mild surprise on his face. "Come in, come in."

She led them into the living room where Sammi's father and her uncle were sitting on the sofas with her brothers-in-law, discussing some sporting event that Sammi had no real interest in. Her father glanced up as Tommy entered the room behind her. She cleared her throat nervously.

"Daddy," she said, moving to her father's side and bending down to kiss his cheek.

"How ya doin', cupcake?" he asked mildly, but his steady gaze was on Tommy. Sammi didn't miss it and cleared her throat again.

"Daddy, this is Tommy. Tommy, this is my father."

Mr. Carnevale glanced up impassively at Tommy as he moved toward him. Tommy extended his hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir," he said quietly. "Thank you for having me in your home."

Mr. Carnevale's face stayed impassive, but Sammi saw a gleam of appreciation and respect in her father's eyes and felt immense relief. Her father rose to his feet and reached out and clasped Tommy's hand, giving it a firm shake, and Sammi noticed a small half-smile form on her father's face. It was a good sign; it meant that Tommy's handshake had been equally as firm. Sammi had heard her father say on many occasions how important a man's handshake was to him, that it said a lot about him as a man.

"Anytime, Tommy," her father was saying. "I'd like you to meet my brother, Gino."

Tommy shifted his gaze to the slightly shorter man, who gave him a mere nod and took his proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, too, sir."

"And these two bums," Mr. Carnevale went on, "are my sons-in-law."

"Ryan," Toni's husband said, rising to his feet and offering Tommy a handshake and a smile.

"Vince," Nik's husband said, doing the same. "Huge fan, man."

"Oh, thanks," Tommy said with a humble nod, but Sammi knew he was uncomfortable with any recognition of his MMA celebrity.

"Fan o' what?" Uncle Gino demanded grumpily.

"Gino, you don't know this kid?" Mr. Carnevale said, surprising Sammi. He reached out and clapped Tommy's shoulder. "He was in all the papers a few months ago. Big MMA guy. Fought his own brother, ah, _marrone_. Used to be a Marine, got an honorable discharge."

"Geez, Dad," Sammi said. "I didn't know you knew his whole bio."

"What, I get it wrong?" Mr. Carnevale demanded. He glanced at Tommy. "Am I wrong, kid?"

"No, sir," Tommy said calmly. "That's what happened."

"See?" Sammi's father continued, reaching out to pinch Sammi's cheeks lightly. "Your old man knows what he's talkin' about."

"He's a hometown celebrity," Vince added. "Nah, forget that. He's a national celebrity!" Sammi rolled her eyes; she knew he would inevitably ask for Tommy's autograph at some point in time. Tommy stood amicably, but she knew him well enough by now to know how uncomfortable he was with it.

"Okay, okay," she said lightly. "Give him a break, he just walked in."

"What's that you got there?" her father asked Tommy, pointing to the bag in his hand.

Tommy glanced down as though he'd forgotten he'd been holding it. "Wine, sir. I thought you and your family might enjoy it."

"Let me see this," her father said musingly, pulling the bottle out of the bag. He examined the label and nodded. "This is Sam's mother's favorite. And hers. And Gino's. Look, Gino." He held the bottle up so Uncle Gino could read the label and he nodded his approval.

"Very good," he commented.

"Thanks, Tommy," her father said, then handed the bottle to Sammi. "Take that in the kitchen. Go help your mother and your sisters." He affectionately cupped her face in his hands and kissed her lightly on both of her cheeks. "Go on. Let us men talk. Hey, you want a beer, Tommy?"

Tommy glanced at Sammi over her father's shoulder and she nodded slightly at him. "Yes, sir," he said lightly. "Beer would be great. Thank you."

"Sam, go get the man a beer, will ya?" her father said, waving her off. He was smiling, and Sammi knew that he was appreciating all the respect that Tommy was showing him. She wasn't sure but she didn't think Ryan or Vince had ever referred to her father as "sir" in their lives. But she saw how immediately Tommy had slipped into his old military bearings, and knew that showing this type of courtesy and respect to someone who "outranked" him in a sense was nothing new to him.

Sammi knew he didn't drink right now, but her father had extended a gesture of hospitality toward him in his own way, and he'd be a fool not to take it. Besides, one beer wouldn't kill him. She hustled into the kitchen, seeing her mother stirring a big steel pot on the stove. Nik and Toni were standing by the sink, talking and laughing.

"Hey, there she is," Toni said with a grin. "The disco queen."

"Ugh, I hate you two," Sammi replied. "Don't ever feed me tequila again."

"Bad night?" Nik asked, raising her brows.

"Something like that. Look, Ma," Sammi said, changing the subject. "Wine. Your favorite. Tommy brought it for you. Daddy's holding him hostage in the living room or else he would have given it to you himself."

"Oh, let me see that," her mother said, turning around. She took the bottle and peered over the top of her glasses at it. "Oh, it _is _my favorite! What a sweet, thoughtful boy."

"Yes, we really should go say hi," Nik said, smiling innocently.

Sammi held up a hand. "You leave him alone. Between your groupie husband and Uncle Gino he's got his hands full." She pulled out a beer from the refrigerator and popped off the top, then took it back out into the living room. She was surprised but pleased to see Tommy smiling at something her father was saying, smiling genuinely and broadly. He looked up when she approached and his smile widened.

"Thanks," he said, taking the bottle from her.

"Get your Uncle Gino one more, too, hon," Uncle Gino called, lifting his empty bottle. Sammi smiled and reached over to take it from him.

"Yes, Uncle Gino," she said and got her uncle another beer. When she returned to the kitchen, her mother was taking the _caprese_ salad she'd made and placing it into a serving bowl.

"Sweetie, set the table please. Nik – get the antipasti ready. Toni – slice the bread."

"Yes, Ma," was the collective response. Sammi knew that setting the table meant everything but the dinner plates, as her mother personally insisted on dishing up and serving each person their plate. Her mother always cooked all of the food, except for when the girls would trade off weeks making a side or a dessert, and she always ate last and very quickly, to make sure that everyone's plate stayed full. Sammi would have objected, but her mother seemed to love taking care of everyone; her grandmother had been that way, and hers before her. It was just part of the family tradition.

"And now, we're ready to eat," her mother was saying brightly, and Sammi's stomach involuntarily clenched up. During the meal was the time when the new guest would be peppered with questions and assaulted with veiled threats.

Nik and Toni were smiling at her, and Toni actually rubbed her hands together.

"Be nice," Sammi whispered. She'd meant for it to come out as a demand but it sounded like a plea.

Her sisters exchanged a look and Nik drew her finger across her throat.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Mrs. Carnevale went to personally collect the men for dinner.

"You bums want to eat, you better come now," she called good-naturedly to them. A moment later, the men filed into the dining room from the living room, Mr. Carnevale rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

The room was small, just big enough for the large oak dining table and all of the chairs, plus a smaller table for the kids. They typically sat in the exact same places every time, and Sammi noticed that an extra chair and place setting had been wedged in right next to her normal place. She caught Tommy's eye and smiled and pointed to the chair next to her. He nodded and walked around beside her. Her father sat at the head of the table, and Uncle Gino sat at the other end. Her mother sat to the left of her father and Sammi to his right. With the odd number of people at the table it was a little awkward, but Sammi moved over as far as she could without intruding her father's space to give Tommy enough room.

"Let me go get the kids," Nik said, and for the first time, Sammi realized with a jolt she hadn't seen any of her two nieces and two nephews. She had completely forgotten about them, so stressed with the introduction of Tommy to her parents and sisters.

"Where are they?" Sammi asked.

"Outside in that little play area for kids, on the other side of the courtyard."

She returned in a few moments with her son and daughter, Mia and Dominic, and Toni's two children, Dante and Ramona.

"Hi, guys!" Sammi exclaimed, kneeling down to allow the four small children to barrel into her. "I didn't see you outside. Why were you being so quiet?"

"Hide and seek," Mia informed her.

"Who won?"

"Me!" Dominic shouted.

"No, _me,"_ Dante whined.

"Enough," Toni said, bringing her fingers to her temples.

"Auntie Sam," Ramona whispered, her eyes furtively going to Tommy, who was watching them with his arms folded over his chest and a half-smile on his face. "Who is that?"

"Who?" Sammi asked, pretending she didn't know who Ramona was talking about.

"Him," she whispered back, pointing a small finger at Tommy.

Sammi glanced back and smiled up at him. "Oh, him? That's my friend. Tommy."

"Tommy," Dominic repeated.

Tommy knelt down next to Sammi. "Hey, little man," he said. "What's your name?"

"I'm Dom," Dominic said.

"That's Dante and Mia," Sammi said, gesturing to her niece and nephew. She wrapped an arm around Ramona's waist. "Can you tell Tommy your name?"

"Ramona," Ramona whispered shyly. The smallest and youngest of the children, she was immensely shy around anyone but her family, and she buried her face against Sammi's shoulder.

"Hi Ramona," Tommy said. "That's a pretty name."

"What do you say?" Sammi prompted her.

"Thank you," she whispered. She looked at Tommy, and he looked at her, and she gave him a big, toothy smile before quickly burying her face against Sammi again.

"Okay, kids," Nik said. "Come on. You know where you need to sit."

Obediently, the children filed to their small table set just away from the adults' table, and automatically took their assigned seats.

"Everyone sit, let's say the prayer," her mother said, patting the air to encourage everyone to sit down. They took their seats bowed their heads. Sammi wasn't really sure what Tommy's denomination was, but his head was bowed like everyone else's. They crossed themselves and began the food blessing and moved into the Hail Mary, finishing with another cross.

"Okay, everyone just sit tight." Mrs. Carnevale rose to her feet.

"Some help, Ma?" Sammi called after her.

"No, no," her mother's voice answered her. "I got it."

"So, Tommy," Nik began and Sammi sighed heavily, fixing her sister with an annoyed look. "The wine. Nice touch."

"Oh." Tommy nodded. "Hope you like it."

"We prefer white, actually," Toni said. "Where's the pinot grigio?"

"It's wherever you left it," Sammi interjected. "Oh, wait. You didn't bring any. Because you're a selfish bitch." She made a silly face to temper her words.

"Hey, language at the table, the kids," her father warned. "The wine was a nice gesture, thanks, Tommy. You girls want anything else, you bring it and stop complaining about gifts."

"So, you really tied one on last night, Baby Sis," Toni said sweetly, ignoring Sammi's pointed and fervent glances at her father.

"What's that mean?" her father demanded. He looked at Sammi. "You were drinkin' last night?"

"She got _drunk_," Nik said bluntly.

"Only because you guys made me!" Sammi insisted hotly. "Ordering all those shots, making me drink them."

"I don't recall pouring anything down your throat," Toni pointed out.

"How did you get home?" Mr. Carnevale asked, ignoring them. "You didn't ride the bus drunk, did you?"

"Who was drunk?" Mrs. Carnevale appeared and placed a heaping plate of pasta and meat sauce in front of Mr. Carnevale and one in front of Uncle Gino, who nodded his head graciously and tucked his napkin into his shirt.

"Your daughter," Toni informed her.

"Sam!" her mother exclaimed, smacking her on the shoulder before turning for the kitchen again.

"No, I didn't ride the bus, Pop," Sammi said, grabbing some marinated artichokes and mushrooms with a fork as a distraction and placing them on her small bread plate.

"Well, did Bunz take you home?"

"Uh, no," Sammi answered. Her father was like a bloodhound that had caught the scent when something didn't sit well with him. She popped a large mushroom in her mouth and glanced at Tommy who was sitting quietly. "Tommy took me home," she said around the mushroom, covering her mouth and hoping her father wouldn't make out her garbled words.

"_He_ took you home?" he repeated, glancing at Tommy. "Home to your apartment? Late at night when you were drunk?"

"Just to make sure she got home safely, sir," Tommy spoke up reassuringly. "I wouldn't let somethin' bad happen to her." Her father nodded at his words but continued to glare at Sammi.

"It's your daughters' faults, anyway," Sammi added. "They kept buying me shots and makin' me drink them."

"They tied you down?" her father asked rhetorically. "They pumped tequila down your throat?"

"No, Pop," Sammi sighed, glaring murderously at her sisters. _You bitches._

Nik winked at her and Toni blew her a kiss. Tommy let out a low chuckle but covered it up with a cough when Sammi turned her glare on him. That, in turn, made Ryan and Vince start laughing. Sammi glanced around the table with narrowed eyes. She wished she could pelt them with marinated artichokes and mushrooms.

Thankfully, her mother arrived again with more food. When everyone was served, everyone lost themselves in the flavorful dishes. Her mother had made spaghetti with a decadent tomato sauce, oily and rich, full of meatballs, sausage, and pepperoni. Sammi's _caprese_ salad was fresh with large basil leaves, sweet Roma tomatoes, creamy fresh mozzarella, seasoned with salt and pepper and tossed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Aside from the marinated vegetables there was also a plate of Italian deli meat – genoa salami and prosciutto. And sliced neatly in a brown wicker basket, wrapped with a white napkin to keep it warm, was a fresh loaf of home-baked Italian bread. It was truly a simple meal, but hearty and completely in the tradition of their heritage.

"This is delicious, ma'am," Tommy said to Mrs. Carnevale. "Really. One of the best meals I ever had."

Sammi beamed at him from over her glass of water as Mrs. Carnevale smiled modestly and waved a hand dismissively in the air. "Oh, thank you," she said. Then she pointed at him. "You make sure you _eat_," she warned. "I know you're an athlete of some kind and you need a good meal in you."

"Yes, ma'am," Tommy said obediently.

"So, Tommy, you follow baseball?" her father asked, sipping at his wine.

"Yes, sir," Tommy replied.

"Yeah? Who do you like for the playoffs?"

"Well, being born and mostly raised in Pittsburgh makes me a Pirates fan automatically," he answered, and smiled when Mr. Carnevale made a noise of distaste and waved him off. "But for the playoffs I'd have to say Yankees all the way."

Sammi had been holding her breath, realizing she'd neglected to coach him on the proper baseball teams, but luckily he'd picked the right one.

"Damn right, Yankees all the way," Mr. Carnevale said, nodding his head firmly. "What do you think about the Red Sox?" It was a test.

Sammi kicked and stomped Tommy's foot under the table, harder than necessary, and he glanced over at her. She kept her eyes on her plate but shook her head quickly, clearing her throat.

Tommy picked it up immediately. "Nah, not a Sox fan, sir," he said. "Not my cup of tea."

"Mine either, and that's 'cause they suck," her father said bluntly, happy as always to advertise his hatred of the baseball team. "Bunch of degenerates, they are."

"Degenerates, Daddy?" Sammi asked, raising her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Hey, Tommy," Vince said. "Saw you on ESPN about the Ithaca thing in a couple weeks. You ready for that?"

Tommy bobbed his head. "I think so," he replied. "Been workin' hard, trainin' a lot."

"What's that?" Uncle Gino asked. "This Ithaca thing."

"A tournament, Uncle Gino," Vince replied. "A big MMA tournament."

"What the hell is this MMA crap?" Uncle Gino demanded.

"It's like fightin', Unc," Ryan chimed in. "Like martial arts and boxing all in one. The guys, they beat the shit out of each other in cages. It's better than wrestling!"

"Oh, fightin'," Uncle Gino said. He glanced at Tommy and nodded. Sammi wasn't sure if it was with approval or merely acknowledgment; her uncle had always been a big fan of boxing.

"When is this tournament?" Mr. Carnevale asked.

Tommy glanced back toward him. "In a couple weeks, sir," he answered. "End of the month. It's in Buffalo."

"I gotta see one of them things, one day," her father said musingly. "Is that gonna be on TV?"

Tommy nodded again. "Yes, sir. It'll be on ESPN."

"I'll have to tune in, maybe watch you fight," her father said. "I always liked the fights, myself."

The conversation went on pleasantly, and Sammi gradually started to relax. Tommy seemed to be perfectly comfortable. He had a lot in common as far as interests went with Ryan and Vince, and even promised to work with them in the gym if they ever wanted to come by. Her father was warming up more and more to him, and even her sisters seemed to be sort of behaving themselves. They teased her occasionally and poked fun at her, but Sammi knew they were just being her big sisters. She knew that they both liked Tommy.

Her mother forced Tommy to eat a second plate, which made Sammi's own full stomach churn, but Tommy barely batted an eye. When everyone was done eating and bemoaning how full they were, Sammi's mother started clearing off the dinner plates.

"I'll help, Ma," Sammi said, getting to her feet. She picked up her and Tommy's plates and carried them into the kitchen, returning for her sisters' dishes and then her brothers-in-law's dishes.

She had slid into her seat again when her mother came out. "Sam has made a delicious-looking tiramisu," she announced. "Who wants dessert and coffee?"

"Ma, give us a minute," Nik groaned, patting her stomach. "We're still hurtin' here!"

"Sit down, sweetheart, take a load off," her father insisted, gesturing to her chair. "Come on."

"All right," Mrs. Carnevale relented and slipped into the seat. She reached across the table to pat Tommy's hand. "I worry about you young single men," she said. "Not eatin' like you should, no one to take care of you. I packed you some food to take home."

Tommy smiled. "Thank you, ma'am," he said politely. "I appreciate that."

"So, Tommy," her father said again, and Sammi sighed, already growing tired of hearing that phrase. "Tell me about your father."

"Daddy, that's kind of a touchy subject," Sammi said.

Mr. Carnevale lifted his hands and gestured to Tommy. "He's a man, sweetpea. He don't need to you answer for him. Tommy, is that a touchy subject?"

Tommy glanced at her. "It's okay," he said. He turned back to her father. "He's a retired Marine. He trains me occasionally, he trained me for Sparta. He's a recovering alcoholic."

"That's good," Mr. Carnevale said with a nod. "Very good. How long?"

"Three years," Tommy replied.

"And your mother?"

"She's passed away, sir," he answered quietly.

"Sorry about that," Mr. Carnevale said sincerely.

"Yes, very sorry to hear that," Mrs. Carnevale added, shooting him a sympathetic look.

"Thank you, ma'am," Tommy said. "She had been sick. In a lot of pain. It's a good thing she went when she did."

"And your brother?" Mr. Carnevale said. "You two had to fight each other. You have a good relationship?"

"We didn't, sir," Tommy said honestly. "But we're working on things now. I have a sister-in-law, two nieces. Never would have got to know them if I didn't give Brendan a chance."

"That's right," Mr. Carnevale agreed. "That's good. Family is the most important thing."

"Yes, sir," Tommy said.

"Dessert? Coffee?" Mrs. Carnevale said, getting another chorus of groans.

"Yes, yes, sweetheart," Mr. Carnevale said. "If it makes you happy."

"Sammi, help me with your tiramisu," her mother said, patting her knee. Sammi got up and followed her into the kitchen. "It's been in the fridge this whole time, along with the chocolate shavings," her mother added. "If you want to add those and serve it up."

Sammi got down the dessert plates as her mother began on the coffee. She dished out portions of the dessert then carefully sprinkled the chocolate shavings on top.

"You know, sweetheart," her mother said, drawing her attention. "I really like that boy. He's so polite. Seems so quiet and respectful. He's good to you?"

Sammi smiled. "Yes, Ma," she replied. "He is."

"Does he…" She stopped and swallowed. "Does he know?"

Sammi sighed quietly. "He knows," she said softly. "I told him."

"Oh, honey," her mother said emotionally, and Sammi turned around.

"It's okay, Ma," she said gently. "He was really understanding, really nice about it."

Her mother nodded and patted her again, tears glistening in her eyes. Sammi knew her attack had hurt both of her parents to their cores, possibly more than it had hurt her, if it was possible. She realized it had to be excruciatingly painful for a parent to have to witness their child being brutalized in that manner and be completely helpless to it. She knew that it had been an enormous struggle for them to watch as Sammi had healed physically, but not emotionally. Her father had been the one to pull the plug in New York; she needed a change of scenery, he'd said, and they had family in Pittsburgh. Sammi had been too damaged to care where they went or if they stayed, but she had found herself growing fonder of Pittsburgh than she could ever have imagined. She liked her comfortable little life, living in Little Italy, working in the café. She would be happy to spend the rest of her days in this city – if she could only get her studio. Her parents had been ecstatic when she'd seemed like she was coming around after the move, perking up and coming back to life. But she knew they still had their moments, usually in private and not around her. At this stage, seeing her mother still so hurt and upset by what had happened to her hurt her more than thinking about the actual attack itself. She grabbed a couple of plates and leaned in to kiss her mother on the cheek before heading back into the dining room.

"Looks good, hon," her father said approvingly. "Looks very good."

"Nonie's recipe," she said, referencing her father's mother. "It's never failed me."

Although her dessert was delicious, Sammi was so full she couldn't properly enjoy it. Tommy, however, ate it as though he hadn't just eaten two enormous plates of food less than an hour before. The man had an empty leg, she decided.

They sat around for another hour, chatting and laughing, drinking the wine Tommy had brought, until the children began to doze from full bellies and early mornings at church.

"That's our cue," Nik said, watching her son and daughter as they nodded off.

"Ours, too," Toni said.

"All right, all right," Mrs. Carnevale said. "Let me get the food packed up."

It was another half an hour before that task was completed, Mrs. Carnevale divvying up the remaining mountain of food between each of her daughters and their families. It went without saying that Sammi typically found herself with the smallest portion. She didn't have a husband or children to feed, so the majority of it went to the families and to Uncle Gino. For tonight's meal, knowing she was going to have a new guest and that that guest was an "athlete", Mrs. Carnevale had made enough food for a small army. Sammi watched with amusement as her mother set to work on Tommy's package, shoveling into several cartons an enormous portion, enough to last him at least half the week.

She suddenly noticed that Tommy was nowhere to be found, and neither were her sisters. She was immediately suspicious, and was contemplating going after them when they reappeared. She wasn't sure what happened, but when they returned, Nik and Toni were smiling innocently and Tommy just looked amused. Sammi narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything. Instead, she handed him a huge bag stuffed with the white take-out cartons that her parents bought in bulk for no other use than family dinners. His eyes widened.

"It's all for you," she said with a smile. "Pasta, sauce, antipasti, _caprese_ salad, deli meat, half a loaf of Italian bread. Enough food for a week."

"Wow," he said, taking the bag. "Thanks."

Sammi gathered up her dishes and stood behind her sisters near the door. Each sister and each husband was holding one sleeping child, so Sammi couldn't really say good-bye to them. She'd learned long ago that when the kids fell asleep, she should leave them that way, or face the wrath of Nik and/or Toni.

"What was that all about?" she asked her sisters quietly.

"Nothing you need to be worried about," Nik said, smiling at her.

"We just had a little chat with your boyfriend," Toni added. "You know, just a friendly conversation."

"He's not my boyfriend," Sammi replied automatically. "What did you say to him?"

"Samantha, stop worrying, for Christ's sake," Nik said, leaning toward her baby sister to peck her forehead. "He's a good guy. We like him."

"Really?" Sammi asked, although she'd already known that. She glanced at Toni.

"Yes, baby sister," Toni said, kissing Sammi's cheek. "We like him. We're just lookin' out for you, kid. We love you, okay?"

Sammi hoped that Tommy wasn't standing right behind her, listening to this conversation. She glanced over her shoulder and didn't see him in the immediate area, and turned, seeing him talking to her father in the dining room. She moved back toward the dining room, catching the tail-end of their conversation.

"…good man. I like you. You're welcome in my house anytime."

"Thank you, sir," Tommy was saying, shaking her father's hand. Mr. Carnevale leaned in, keeping Tommy's hand clasped in his.

"But if you ever hurt my daughter, in _any _way, I got a rifle and a shovel. No one will miss you that much. We clear?"

"Yes, sir," Tommy replied immediately, unfazed. "Crystal clear, sir."

"Good." He clapped Tommy on the shoulder and spotted Sammi just outside the door. "Ah, my sweet girl. I was just telling Tommy here how much I like him and that he's welcome back anytime."

"Every Sunday," her mother's voice called back from the kitchen.

Sammi laughed and reached out to hug and kiss her father. "That's good to know. Hopefully none of you scared him off. Hopefully _we_ didn't scare him off," she amended.

"Not in the least," Tommy said, smiling at her. Her mother hustled in.

"I've got to say good-bye to all my babies!" she exclaimed, hurrying into the living room as though she wouldn't be seeing them ever again as opposed to a few days, if that. In turn, she kissed each of the children, her daughters, and her sons-in-law as they filed out, calling good-byes over their shoulders.

"Good-bye, Tommy," Nik called over her shoulder. "Don't forget what we said!"

"Never will," Tommy called back. "Nice to see you again."

"Take care," Toni said brightly. "We'll see you soon!"

"The words are friendly, but it always sounds so threatening," Sammi mused.

"Good to meet you, man," Vince said, offering Tommy his hand. "I'll take you up on the gym offer."

"Absolutely, any time," Tommy replied. He shook hands with Ryan and then offered his hand to Uncle Gino. "Nice meeting you, sir."

"Yes," Uncle Gino said, shaking his hand in return. "You take care of my niece. Or it's your ass." He gripped onto Tommy's hand for an extended beat, then let go with a nod.

"Yes, sir," Tommy answered.

"Okay, bye, Uncle Gino," Sammi said hurriedly before any more threats against Tommy's life were made. "Bye, Daddy. Bye, Ma. Thanks for dinner. I'll see you tomorrow." She gave her uncle and her parents quick kisses goodbye and then turned to Tommy. "Ready?" she asked.

"If you are," he replied. He followed her out the door and across the courtyard. Sammi heaved an enormous sigh of relief, glad that the first meeting was over. It would be much less tense and more easy-going next time. If _there's a next time_, she thought, thinking again of her behavior from the night before.

"You did well," she said, and he smiled.

"You have a great family," he said. "I like them all. Your mom reminds me a lot of my mom."

"What did my sisters say to you?" she demanded, and he laughed again.

"They shoved me into the bathroom and told me that if I ever hurt you, they'd cut my balls off." He smirked. "Your father threatened me with a rifle and shovel." He nudged her in the ribs. "You must be pretty special if your entire family is threatening to end my life."

"That's just how they are," Sammi said. "But they do mean it."

"Oh, I know that," he said with a nod. "That was obvious."

They walked along in silence for a bit until they reached the hallway leading to her apartment. She glanced at him. He really did seem to be perfectly at ease and she got the impression that he really had enjoyed meeting her family, death threats aside. When they reached her door she faced him.

"Listen, about last night," she began awkwardly and waved him off when he started to protest. "I really want you to know how sorry I am for acting like that, and how much I appreciate – well," she paused. "A lot of guys in your position might not have been as – nice and…and…_gentlemanly_ as you were. And although it doesn't seem like it, on account of the throwing of the alarm clock and everything, I thank you for that."

Tommy shrugged. "It just wouldn't have been right," he said simply.

"I just don't want you to think that, like –" She sighed in frustration. "That I'm the type of girl that…"

He leaned down to look directly into her eyes. "Sam, I know exactly what kind of girl you are," he said quietly. "So stop worrying about it. Shit happens." He smirked a little. "And, now I know. Never, _ever_ let you drink hard alcohol." His eyes twinkled. "Well, maybe not _never…"_

She groaned and shoved his shoulder. "Be careful with me," he warned. "I'm stuffed to the brim and I could explode all over you."

"That would be disgusting," she said, smiling.

He held her gaze for a beat. "Well," he said lightly. "I better get home. I need to digest this food before I go to sleep and I've got to get up early tomorrow."

"Training?"

"Of course. Then work." He hefted the sack with his leftovers. "Thank your mom for this again for me. And thank you for inviting me to dinner."

"I didn't," she reminded him, grinning. "My sister did. And it wasn't so much an invite as it was a threat."

"You're right about that, silly me," he said with a chuckle. Their eyes met again and he smiled. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night," she replied. She slipped her arms around his waist to give him a light hug, feeling his free arm slip around her, his hand settling at the small of her back as he held her against him. Then, she automatically lifted her face to kiss his cheek. Sensing her face moving closer to his, he turned his head quickly toward hers to look at her, and her lips ended up lightly bumping against the corner of his lower lip. She pulled her head back slightly, color flaming in her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mumbled. _Shit, fuck, dammit._

His head was still turned toward hers and he hadn't pulled away from her. Their eyes met for a long moment, his pewter-blue eyes narrowing slightly as they moved over her face. Sammi swallowed hard, wondering if she'd just accidentally made an enormous mistake, and then Tommy leaned in slightly, his eyes dropping to her mouth. She jumped when she felt his nose brush against the side of hers as he hovered his lips near hers, asking a silent question as his eyes met hers once again. Anxiety threatened to tear her to pieces in that moment, but she fought it back and tilted her head slightly, brushing her lips lightly against his. It wasn't a kiss, but it was her form of granting him permission.

She heard him pull in a breath lightly before she felt the amazing warmth and sensation of his lips pressing lightly to hers. She wanted to freeze, but instead she tentatively returned his kiss, allowing her eyes to close. It was all the encouragement he needed, one hand sweeping up her arm to slide under her hair and gently squeeze the back of her neck.

His lips were unbelievably soft, and their fullness added a completely different sensation to her mouth than anything she could ever have imagined. She stood very still and soaked in the sensations – the smooth satiny feeling of his lips, encompassing hers like two of the softest down pillows ever made, the feeling of his rough, calloused hand and thumb lightly stroking the smooth skin of the back of her neck and her cheek and jaw, alternating with gentle, comforting squeezes, the warmth of his breath flowing through his nose and tickling her cheek gently. How could she have ever felt the claws of panic at something so sweet?

The lines of worry and uncertainty creased into her brow smoothed out as she relaxed completely into him, and she realized her arm was still around his waist and that she'd unconsciously begun to stroke his back. She parted her lips ever so slightly and followed the movement of his, feeling him out in a sweetly innocent curious way, letting his mouth do most of the work. It was her first kiss in over a year, and the first kiss she'd ever really wanted in a terribly long time, and she felt rusty, nervous…and eager.

His lips moved over hers languidly, sweetly, as though he had all the time in the world. She liked that he didn't plunge in tongue-first; he was much more sensual than that. He seemed to be as into the sensations as she was as he was in constant motion between his mouth and his hand, wanting to taste and stroke her skin. He never deviated from his slow, easy pace, and she found herself starting to get swept away on a wave of emotion. At one point she found her lips beginning to return his kisses a little too quickly, too eagerly, as if they unconsciously wanted to keep time with her racing pulse, but he didn't let her, his lips keeping it slow and sweet and he pressed her back into the door, his thumb stroking her jaw gently.

She was starting to get curious about his tongue, wondering if he was going to try to use it, and decided that if he did, she might be ok with it. She wondered what it tasted like, if it would be smooth or rough, and was thinking that maybe she might let hers slip forward, just the tip to brush over his lip and see if it encouraged him further, when he pulled away from her slowly with a gentle _smack _of his lips. His fingers slid to her chin and his thumb smoothed over it as his eyes moved over her face.

"Good night," he repeated, a smile pulling up one corner of the luscious mouth that had just been against hers. She found she couldn't look away from them, not caring if her want was plain on her face. She felt fairly certain she could have stood here with him against her door for the rest of her life, relishing in the feeling of his lips moving softly over hers.

A slow smile spread over her face, and his thumb moved to gently stroke over her dimple before he dropped his hand away. He reached into his pockets and drew out her keys and held them out to her. She took them and allowed her fingers to linger against his.

"Good night," she echoed softly, then turned to open the door to her apartment. She was still smiling when she closed and latched the door, listening to his footsteps slowly retreat down the hall.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Bunz sighed dreamily, her face propped in her hand as she leaned on the counter the following morning and listened to Sammi relay the events of the rest of the weekend, post-Cliff's. Sammi had just finished describing her kiss with Tommy, and now she felt a little embarrassed since it sounded so much cheesier when put into words, but she had hardly been able to think of anything else since then. It felt like she was regressing in terms of dealing with the opposite sex as opposed to progressing. She was certainly no virgin, having given that up when she was a senior in high school, but since the attack, she'd been so shut off from the opposite sex that it was almost like she was re-learning how men and women interacted with each other when they were interested in one another. She knew she was daydreaming over one kiss like a thirteen-year-old, but she couldn't help it. It had been wonderful.

Even Bunz, who typically was disgusted by all things romance- and cheese-related, couldn't help but be drawn in by the scenario.

"That sounds awesome," she said. "I think I'll have some of those lips, too."

"Over my dead body," Sammi replied with a smile.

"Don't be so selfish," Bunz replied.

"Oh, I am," Sammi said. "Besides, you have Anthony. You have a boyfriend. You go mind your own business."

"_Fine_," Bunz said exasperatedly. "So have you guys talked since then?"

"We texted a little bit last night before bed," Sammi said. "And he sent me a 'good morning' text today. Other than that, no, not really."

"I still can't believe that you threw the pussy at him like that," Bunz said, shaking her head. "And that he didn't jump on it."

"Please stop talking about that," Sammi moaned, dropping her forehead into her hand. "Please. And like I said, it's partially your and my sisters' faults. You were the ones buying all those damn shots."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't have if I would have known you were going to act like a drunken jezebel," Bunz answered.

"I didn't _know_ I was going to act like a drunken jezebel," Sammi muttered. Bunz gave her shoulder a little shove.

"Stop beating yourself up. I'm just kidding, kind of. Besides, it all worked out. Tommy proved himself to be a gentleman, he still showed up for dinner, your family loves him, and you guys kissed. What is there to be sad about?"

"Not much, when you put it that way," Sammi replied. As Bunz went back to her latest concoction, Sammi peered over her shoulder. "What exactly have you got there?"

"Mini apple pies," Bunz replied, pressing pie crust into cupcake tins. She began spooning some fresh apple pie mixture into the tins and Sammi inhaled appreciatively, taking in the wonderful aroma of cooked diced apples, brown sugar, cinnamon, and….

"Is that bacon?" she demanded, pointing to the filling. It looked like crisp, cooked bacon had been diced and mixed into the filling.

"Yes," Bunz admitted. "Taste it."

Sammi grabbed a clean spoon and dunked it into the filling, bringing it to her lips. Her eyes flew open at the flavor. The apple pie was thick, sweet and spicy, like she was used to, but the crunch of the diced pieces of bacon added a savory element that made her mouth water.

"That's delicious," she announced. "Bunz the Baking Genius strikes again."

"Thanks!" she said. "There's also cheddar cheese in the crust."

"Wow," Sammi said, her mouth watering again. "I'll have a dozen."

"You can have _one_," Bunz replied with a smile. "You give it to your new boyfriend."

"What is it with you guys?" Sammi demanded. "He's not my boyfriend, already."

"_Yet_," Bunz replied, applying the tops of the pie crusts now. "You've already crossed over the 'friend' boundary."

"That doesn't mean we're 'going out' now," Sammi said wryly, referencing a term from her middle school days when she and her peer group wanted to play at adult relationships. "We're just, you know, friends or whatever."

Bunz smirked. "Sure. Whatever you say, Samantha."

Sammi growled in annoyance at her friend and shoved away from the counter. "All right. I'm going to remove myself from your abuse now. Hater."

"Hardly!" Bunz replied. "I just want you two to cut the shit and get on with things already."

"Good-bye, Ms. Williams," Sammi called, leaving the kitchen. The dining portion was empty for now; it was just after the lunch rush. Sammi knew it would fill back up in another hour or so, when people came in for their mid-afternoon caffeine and snack fixes.

Later that evening when they were finishing up with closing duties, Bunz leaned over the front counter and placed a small brown paper sack in front of Sammi. The top was folded down neatly. Sammi glanced up from where she was finishing counting the drawer and placing the day's deposit into the cash bag.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A pie."

"Ooh, yum," Sammi said, snatching at the sack eagerly.

"Not for you. For Tommy. I was serious. You should go take it to him before you go to the Y."

"I'm not sure I want to share," Sammi said.

"Too bad. Do it."

Sammi pondered the small sack on her way home from making a quick run to the bank. She needed to change her clothes and feed Rocky and then get to the Y to work on her dance. She'd finally narrowed it down to a great song and had the first two minutes of choreography down. The showcase was still a few weeks away but she wanted to make sure it was perfect.

She supposed she could make a special delivery on her way there. Her lips curved up at the thought of seeing him. She wondered if things would be awkward. She wondered if he regretted what had happened.

_Stop it_, she told herself sternly. _What are you, twelve?_

She decided not to announce her visit; she wanted to surprise him. She changed out of the jeans and off-shoulder sweater she'd worn for work and slipped into her favorite cranberry-colored leotard, black yoga pants and a lightweight cream-colored wrap sweater. It was drizzly outside, so she stepped into a pair of shiny black rain boots and made sure her dance "footies" as well as her pointe shoes were tucked safely into her purse. She wasn't sure yet which type of footwear she wanted for her performance and made a point to rehearse in both to see which ones looked and felt better to maintain the integrity of the dance. She grabbed a hooded black windbreaker and pulled the hood over her head and slipped out into the night.

Luckily, she timed her exit just right and waited only a few minutes for the bus to pull up. As she rode toward the gym nervousness began to gnaw at her guts at the idea of facing him. He had generally been reliable in terms of staying consistent with his moods, at least around her, but then again they had never crossed _this_ line before. She just didn't know what to expect and not knowing what to expect sent her nerves ablaze.

When the bus reached its stop, she hopped off and looked across and down the street to where the gym was. She hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. One block up and two blocks over would take her to the Y; she could go there now and completely bypass any potential discomfort and anxiety. Instead, she looked both ways and jogged across the street, her boots landing lightly in the puddles on the ground and splashing up onto her pants. She reached the other side and walked down the sidewalk, enjoying the light mist on her warm face as she went.

She pushed through the doors of the gym, immediately assaulted by the warmth from the heat of multiple bodies, the stench of sweat, and the energy of testosterone in the air. Fenroy was at the front desk watching ESPN like he always did, and glanced up, immediately brightening when he saw her.

"Hey, Carnevale!" he said the way he always did after she'd corrected him on the pronunciation of her name. "What's up? You bring me something to eat?" He flicked his head toward the little sack Sammi withdrew from her purse.

"What do you think, Fenroy?" she asked calmly.

"I think you're mean, is what I think. He's back there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the punching bags Sammi always used to take her frustrations out on. "Are you ever coming back to us?"

"Maybe one day," she replied. "I'm working on this dance thing right now."

"Oh, yeah," Fen said with a nod. "For the showcase thing. Conlon was talking about that one day."

"He was?" Sammi's ears perked up.

"Yeah. He said you're a really good dancer." Fenroy smirked. "After Saturday night I tend to agree, but I don't think that's the kind of dancing he was talking ab –"

"Good night, Fen," Sammi said abruptly, turning and walking off. She headed toward the bags, hearing the faint sound of fists hitting the material. Hard. She rounded the corner of the ring toward the cluster of bags and stopped short.

He had his back to her, and he was shirtless. His tattooed skin shone with a sheen of sweat, and she was mesmerized by the way the muscles in his back contracted and moved with the force of his blows. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes drinking in the sight of his well-formed traps, the heavy curve of his shoulders, the definition in his triceps and the bulge of his biceps. They were visible even under the heavy black ink of the dozens of tattoos littering his upper body. She had never really noticed before, but somehow, his tattoos instantly became incredibly sexy on his skin. His forearms were thick and sinewy with muscle, the tendons tensing and releasing with every movement of his arms. His shoulders were broad and he had a perfect triangle-shape to his body, broad at the shoulders before narrowing at the waist. Just looking at his back called out to everything female inside Sammi; he was big, he was strong, and he was utterly powerful. She'd seen him shirtless before, obviously, but it was affecting her differently now somehow.

As though he had caught her scent, he suddenly whipped his head around. His hair was slicked with sweat and brushed off his forehead and she studied with a sudden intense interest how his ribs melded into his oblique muscles and how his heavily defined, muscled abdomen contracted as he turned at the waist. Her eyes traveled back up to his face, and the fierce, focused expression that had been there was slowly disappearing. His eyes brightened at the sight of her before any other feature on his face moved, and just that tiny, almost imperceptible glimmer made her heart soar. She couldn't stop a ridiculous grin from spreading across her face as she looked at him. As though her smile were infectious, he returned it, his eyes dropping to her cheeks by the corners of her mouth where she knew her dimples were on full display. He seemed to like her dimples.

"Hey," he said softly, stepping toward her. He seemed to think better of it and doubled back to snatch a towel off the floor, rubbing at his face and arms and torso, over his hair, before dropping it and grabbing a white tank top from the floor.

She watched in disappointment as he tugged it on, her eyes raking him. "Hi," she replied to his back, standing still and unsure of what exactly to do now. Since they'd kissed, was she supposed to go and kiss him now? Was that expected? Or were they to pretend nothing happened? Sammi knew she was too old to be worrying about these things, but she genuinely had no idea what her role was or what "other people" did after such an occurrence.

When his tank top was in place and he'd mopped himself up, he turned around to face her and stepped toward her again. She felt her body tensing, but it was more with anticipation and curiosity than anything else. He reached out and took her hand, pulling her gently toward him, and leaned down, letting his lips graze her cheek softly.

She was surprised and indescribably pleased with the show of affection, smiling at him again when he pulled his face back. As much as she had enjoyed kissing him the day before, she didn't know how she would have reacted had he tried to kiss her on the lips now. But she also knew that if he'd done nothing at all, not even hug her, she would have felt slighted and let down. His light kiss on her cheek, taking her hand in his, had been exactly right as far as she was concerned. He wasn't trying to push her, but at the same time, he'd let her know he wanted to be affectionate with her. She blushed a little and looked down at their hands as he let hers go.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, noting her attire. "You come to work out?"

"No," she replied. "I'm actually on my way to the Y to work on the showcase piece. I stopped by to bring you something."

"What's that?" he asked, his eyes going to the little paper sack in her hands. She held it out to him and he took it.

"It's a mini-apple pie," she explained. "Something new. Bunz baked them. Thought you might like to try it."

"Smells good," he commented, sniffing the bag. "Even through the plastic wrap. It's not just sweet though." He frowned and took another sniff. "It smells like…bacon. And cheese too, maybe. This is an _apple_ pie?"

Sammi laughed. "Yes. It's mostly sweet. The cheese is in the crust. Cheese and apples have gone together since the dawn of time."

"And the bacon?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"Haven't you ever had salty and sweet mixed together?" she asked, and he slowly shook his head. "It's one of the most delicious combinations in existence, in my opinion," she went on. "Salty and sweet are meant for each other. Like caramel and sea salt, or chocolate and sea salt. With the bacon in the filling, it gives you that savory, salty payoff after the tart and sweet of the apples. It's the perfect mash-up of everything your tongue craves." Her final words hung in the air, and while Sammi had genuinely been talking about food, she realized how sensual the words were. And it wasn't lost on Tommy. She'd noticed his eyes fall to her mouth as she was speaking, and they lingered there for a long moment after she was done. Despite her desire not to do so in that exact moment, her body rebelled and the tip of her tongue slipped out and swept over her slightly dry bottom lip, drawing it between her teeth as she withdrew it.

His eyes followed every movement, then lifted to hers, holding her gaze for a moment. Finally he nodded.

"Can't wait to try it," he said. "It'll be my post-workout snack. My nutritionist will be so happy with me."

Sammi smirked. "Just tell him you had protein, fruit and a little dairy and he'll be fine." She shrugged. "It's true, after all."

He let out a chuckle. "You could be right about that," he replied, folding his arms over his chest.

Sammi stared at his bicep until she realized she was staring and shook herself. "Well," she said. "I'd better get going. I'm hoping to get another full minute of my dance completed tonight."

"All right," he said softly. "Good luck on it." He unfolded his arms and stepped toward her again, and her pulse sped up until it was completely out of control. She could feel it pulsing in her throat. He leaned down to brush his lips to her cheek again, and they hesitated there for just a moment. She turned her head slightly toward his and looked up into his eyes, then down at his mouth. It was just centimeters from hers and he seemed to be asking the silent question he'd asked from the night before. She was about to be bold and initiate it herself this time, her hands even coming to his shoulders as though they had a mind of their own, but then she heard footsteps behind her and she quickly stepped away, dropping her hands, following the sound as Tommy's head snapped up.

"Tommy," Fenroy said, then stopped short, noting their closeness. "My bad," he added with a smirk. "I didn't mean to interrupt anything."

"What you want, Fen?" Tommy asked curtly.

Fen's smirk widened. "I just wanted to let you know some of the competitors who are going to be at Ithaca are on ESPN right now, showing some highlight videos. Might be good to come take a look, study their moves."

Tommy sighed, glancing at Sammi, then nodded. Sammi wasn't upset; she knew next to nothing about MMA but could agree that it did sound like a very good, helpful idea. She glanced back up at him, giving him a half-smile and noting the wistful disappointment in his eyes.

"Gotta go," she said lightly, shoving her hands in her jacket pocket.

"Be careful," he replied. "What time you goin' home?"

"Couple hours," she said. "Long before you even close up here."

He nodded. "Send me a text when you get home, okay?" he asked. "So I know you made it home safe."

"Sure," she said with a smile. "Enjoy the pie. Have a good night."

As turned to leave, she gave Fen a dirty look and brushed past him. His laughter echoed in her ears as she pushed through the doors of the gym, pulling her hood up against the drizzle. She couldn't stop a little smile from crossing her face, though. If she were contemplating being the initiator this time, it was progress. Or maybe it was just what Tommy did to her.

She laughed to herself.

:O:O:O:

After watching the clip on ESPN with Fen, Tommy retreated to his office. He decided some research was in order, and hopped on the Internet to read about his two strongest competitors – Clay "The Punisher" Cavasso and Richie Marsden. He became engrossed in watching clips of them in the ring, and realized he needed to be adding this form of study to his overall regimen. Just from fifteen minutes of film, he could already see that Clay was very fond of the left roundhouse kick. He tended to punctuate jabs with hooks from the opposite arm, and didn't seem to be very good at blocking. However, he seemed to be able to take a fair amount of hits without it even fazing him. Richie liked to feint and then catch his opponents from the other side. He also was extremely quick and agile, and if he took hits that put him on his back, he was quick with the leg sweep on his way back to his feet. Tommy knew he'd need to watch out for that. Neither one of them seemed any stronger than he was, or even better or faster than he was. He could simply read their strengths and pick out their weaknesses from these couple of clips he'd watched. He'd make a point to watch more and dissect their fighting styles even further. He knew the same was being done to him. He knew that whatever seed he was put into, his opponents were chomping at the bit to take a bite out of the famous Tommy Conlon. He'd be damned if he let it happen. He was unofficially nicknamed "The One Hitter Quitter", a name he didn't particularly care for or ask for, but there it was anyway. It stemmed originally from his fight with Mad Dog, although it had taken slightly more than one hit to knock him out. At Sparta, he had mowed through his first several opponents that way. He'd have to make sure it happened as such at Ithaca.

As he continued clicking through different clips, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the ID. It was Colt.

"Hey," he said. "What's up?"

"Tommy," Colt's voice said. "I have….not awesome news."

"What's that?" Tommy asked evenly, scrolling through a list of videos on YouTube.

"It's about Ithaca." Colt hesitated and Tommy grew impatient.

"Spit it out, man," he said. "What?"

"It's no longer an eight-man tourney," Colt said. "The size of the purse fell under debate, and the game warden in New York said that for a purse that size, even if the money was willingly and legitimately fronted by Wilcox and his company, there either needs to be more fighters, or they need to reduce the purse. Well, no one wants the purse to be reduced, so they added eight more fighters."

Tommy sighed. It wasn't, as Colt said, "awesome" news by any means – who wanted increased competition with a $2 million purse on the line? But it was far from the worst news he'd ever received. Still, another sixteen-man tournament? _Sparta all over_, he thought, annoyed.

"All right," he sighed. He reached for a pencil and pad of paper. "Give me the new names." As Colt rattled them off, Tommy jotted them down. He recognized a couple of the names; the others were not well known to him at all.

"Who are these guys?" he asked. "I know the first couple but not the others. Never heard of 'em."

"The others are amateurs, too," Colt said. Tommy knew better than to scoff at the word "amateur" and assume they were an easy win – people had done that to _him _and then gotten their teeth knocked down their throats. "They do have some YouTube clips though. I sure hope you've been watching film on these guys, Tommy."

"I'm on it now," Tommy said. "Thanks for the heads up."

He hung up with Colt and sighed again. Another sixteen-man tournament. He thought back to Sparta. That had been a long couple days. Ithaca would have to be a two-night event now, with two rounds on the first day and two on the second. He hadn't been given the exact details of the tournament yet, but his best guess was that on day one, all sixteen of the fighters would be paired up randomly. Whoever won those fights would progress to round two, where the fighters would be whittled from eight to four. The first two days would be the longest; the first two bouts of the fights would be two three-minute rounds, with a third round possible if there was a tie at the end of the two rounds. With the fights, the breaks in between each round, the commercial breaks, and any and all other inconveniences that would surely come up, he knew the first day would be at least three hours' worth of fights. The second day would be less fight-heavy, with the third bout consisting of five three-minute rounds and the final bout being five five-minute rounds. For television purposes, the fights would be intermingled with live interviews, fighter profiles, behind-the-scenes footage, and whatever other shit people tended to want to see.

Tommy had staunchly refused to do any interviews, telling Colt that under no uncertain circumstances would he permit the camera in his dressing room. He hated people being in his personal business and even though he was in a completely different place emotionally this time around, he still wasn't up for any interviews. He didn't care if they did a feature on him for the player profile, and had even agreed to taking photos, but he refused to permit any interviews. It would never happen.

His phone rang again, and he grabbed it, seeing that it was Brendan calling this time. He always felt a curious, indescribable pang whenever he saw a call or text from his big brother; he wasn't sure how to identify the feeling, but it was a cross between dread and pleased anticipation.

"Hey, bro," he greeted when he answered the call. "What's up?"

"Hey, Tommy!" Brendan said enthusiastically. "I just heard the news about Ithaca. Another sixteen-man tourney, huh? You ready?"

"How did you hear that?" Tommy asked in surprise. "I just found out myself, not ten minutes ago."

"Ah, I heard it from Frank," Brendan replied. "One of his fighters, new kid at his gym, is in it now that they included more men."

"Oh," Tommy replied. For some reason, he always felt a little bit of annoyance whenever Brendan referenced Frank Campano or his gym. He didn't know why; Brendan could work out and train with whomever he wanted. Maybe it was because Frank had spent the entire time along the side of the ring during his bout with Brendan at Sparta, screaming for him to finish Tommy off. And whenever Tommy saw him now, even though his relationship with his older brother had significantly improved, Frank always seemed to either look through him like he wasn't there, or stare at him suspiciously. Tommy didn't appreciate any of it and expected that the day would soon come when he'd have to put Frank in his place.

"So you feeling pretty good about everything then?" Brendan went on. "Pop says you've been training really hard, plus you're doing great running that gym."

"Yeah, it's all good," Tommy said, leaning back in his chair. "I'm just tryin' to get in the right frame of mind for the fight. Couple guys on the ticket that I gotta keep an eye on, study their film pretty close. Otherwise, it'll be what it will."

"You don't have to play coy, man," Brendan said. "If you're nervous, you can tell me."

"I'm not _nervous_, really," Tommy replied, beginning to get annoyed. "Just need to keep my eyes open around them."

"Right. Well, Tess and I, and Pop, would love to come see you in Buffalo. Is that okay?"

"Of course it's okay," Tommy said. "You guys are my family." The words felt strange and foreign on his tongue, but far from unpleasant.

"Great. Which day you headin' up?"

"Probably head up the morning before," Tommy said. "It's only a two, two-and-a-half hour drive from here. Try to get there before noon."

"Why, you doin' interviews this time around?" Brendan exclaimed, and Tommy could practically hear the grin in his voice. "Day before is always a press day."

"Fuck you think?" Tommy replied scornfully. "Those vultures can have at it with the other guys. I'll go for the pictures because Colt says that's in my contract but I ain't doin' any fuckin' interviews."

"No shit," Brendan said. "The day you give an interview is the day I'll bet my life savings on red." He paused. "You know, tons of papers and magazines have been tryin' to get me and you to do an interview and photo shoot together for a while now." He paused again. "Lot o' money to be made in that, brother."

"Brendan…." Tommy sighed.

"I know how you feel about it. But there's a lot of interest out there in our relationship and the progress we've made with each other, and with Pop. I know TapouT contacted you for an endorsement deal – they contacted me too, and they said if we could do an ad campaign together, they'd increase our payout and give us a percentage of the sales for a year."

Tommy paused. It was a tempting offer. "I don't know, man," Tommy said. "It sounds good, and that's a lot of money I could send to Pilar and the kids but at what cost? Exploiting myself? You? Pop?"

"Just think about it, Tommy," Brendan said. "Okay? Just think about it, is all I'm asking. Not _everyone _is a vulture."

"I'll think about it," Tommy said, and his voice indicated that was all the discussing about it he was willing to do.

Brendan wisely took notice and changed the subject. "So, how's it goin' with Sammi?" he asked. "You survive meetin' her family yesterday?"

Tommy couldn't help a tiny half-smile at the mention of her name. He glanced at the corner of his desk where the sack with the pie she'd brought him still sat. "Yeah, things are good," he said, surprising himself with how easily he could talk about her. "Met her family. Her old man threatened to kill me, sisters threatened to chop my balls off, but it wasn't anything I didn't expect or couldn't handle."

"Good," Brendan replied. "Things getting more serious between you two?"

"I mean, things are cool," Tommy said evasively. "We're still getting to know each other and all that. She's a good girl."

"She seems like," Brendan agreed. "Tess and the girls want to meet her. So does Pop."

"You told Pop about her?" Tommy demanded.

"It was kind of an accident. He wanted to know why you didn't come by yesterday." Like Sammi's family, Tommy's had a habit of getting together on Sundays now as well which was mostly Tess's influence.

"Dammit, Bren," Tommy said, truly annoyed. "I wasn't ready for Pop to know about her yet. You and Tess and the girls, I don't mind, but not Pop. Not yet."

"Why?" Brendan asked. "I mean, what's the problem?"

Tommy thought of Sammi's past and winced. He didn't know how she would react to his previously abusive father. "She's…she's had a rough time in the past," he said. "I don't know that she's ready to meet him anytime soon."

"Well, Tess wants you two over on Sunday for a barbecue," Brendan replied. "Which is the real reason why I'm calling. And Pop is gonna be there."

"Then I'm not sure I can bring her," Tommy answered simply.

"Talk to her, man," Brendan insisted. "I don't know what happened to her, it's none of my business. But Tess really wants to get the family together before you leave for Ithaca, sort of a 'good luck Tommy' party, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I can't get off this phone until you promise to come and to bring your new girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Tommy replied automatically. He paused, thinking, then sighed. "Tell Tess I'll talk to Sammi. And you tell Pop he better be on his fuckin' best behavior."

"Give the man a break, Tommy," Brendan said quietly. "He's not the same man. If you would just let go of the past a little…you'd see that."

"I'm tryin', Bren," Tommy said abruptly. "I really am."

"All right. Well, go call your girlfriend and let me know later what she says. Don't make me look bad in front of my wife."

"Later," Tommy said darkly and hung up the phone. He leaned back in his chair and yawned deeply, his mind whirling. Between the tournament's recent turn of events, the higher stakes and now this family get-together, it was a lot to take in.

He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost nine. He frowned. Sammi had come by around six, and said she was only going to be at the studio for a couple hours. Shouldn't she have made it home by now? His mind turned to other thoughts, less pleasant, and wondered if she'd run into trouble.

As if by magic, his phone went off for the third time that night and he snatched it up. A genuine smile crossed his face as he read her message.

_"__Made it home – I fell asleep or I would have texted you sooner! I'm sorry. Hope you liked the pie. Call me tomorrow. Sweet dreams. Xoxo"_

_"__Was starting to worry about you,"_ he typed. "_Glad to hear you're tucked in. I will talk to you tomorrow. Sweet dreams to you."_

He wanted to add some x's and o's like she had, but he didn't. He wished he could kiss and hug her for real, but he'd settle for thinking about it instead. As he set his phone back down, he wondered when he'd be able to see her again, and decided it would have to be tomorrow.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Quick note on the last chapter, which I forgot to address before posting it. I know NOTHING about MMA. So the way I described setting up the Ithaca tournament is pulled from the research I did as well as my own artistic vision. If it's not realistic to those of you who know better - sowwy! Just go with it. Thanks!**

**Chapter 17**

Sammi left the café twenty minutes early the next evening, eager to get home, change her clothes, feed Rocky and get to the studio. She had made quite a bit of progress the previous night, actually finishing the dance. Tonight, she would put all of it together and begin working on cleaning up the choreography. Creating a dance was a challenging yet fulfilling activity for her; it demanded discipline and patience, as well as draining her creativity in order to make it as perfect – to her – as possible. It wasn't uncommon for her to create an entire dance, only to end up completely changing half of it because she was no longer satisfied with what she had originally come up with. Moreover, she tended to have a short attention span at times, and locking herself into a dance studio for a minimum of two hours with few other distractions forced her to concentrate on the task at hand and buckle down for the work. Earlier that day, she'd finally told Bunz that she _would_ do the showcase, although her stomach twisted in fear at the idea of performing in front of God only knew how many people. Naturally, Bunz expected no other answer and merely lifted a shoulder at her, saying, "Yeah?"

Now, Sammi stretched out on the wooden spring floor in her favorite studio at the Y. She knew she was lucky that there were no other dance or fitness classes being taught at this time in this studio. Save for her Wednesday night and Saturday morning classes, the older studio was rarely used and was tucked further back into the building than the other, newer studios. She preferred this one, with the chipped wooden floors, the rickety _barres_ that she constantly had to remind maintenance to come tighten, the exposed wires in the ceiling. She loved it for the simple fact that it was quiet and set apart from everything else in the large, busy building, and it had several panels of windows lining one side that allowed her a fantastic view of this part of Pittsburgh. She especially loved it at night, when she could see all the city lights. It was in these moments that she missed New York, dreadfully.

She crawled toward the window to continue her floor stretches, her legs splaying wide as she leaned forward, her flexibility allowing her to rest her stomach flat on the floor. She leaned her elbows on the bottom of the window, peering out. Many large, east-coast cities reminded her of New York at night. She hadn't been back since the day her family had packed up and left for Pittsburgh. She wondered if she'd ever be able to one day return and appreciate her home city again, without allowing the horrific event that had befallen her to define her interpretation of what home really was. She hated feeling like a victim; hated her anxiety, her depression. Hated that it made her harm herself and feel like she couldn't deal with life at all. Hated that it made her withdraw into a shell of her former, vibrant self. Hated that she didn't know how to move past it fully. What was an appropriate length of time to get over being brutally raped and almost murdered? How long was it supposed to take until she could get over the deep, horrible ache of knowing she'd never be able to have children of her own? How long until some semblance of faith, trust and belief in humanity could be restored? These were the questions that kept her up at night, and no matter how long she mulled over them or how many times she spun them over and over and over in her mind, she simply didn't know the answers.

Idly she reached over and drew her fingers over her ankle, over the tightly tied ribbons of her pointe shoes. It was the ankle that she sometimes used to take her inner abuse out on, the one that Tommy had seen. There were other places, like the soft flesh of her belly below her navel, her hip, high inside her thigh, over her ribcage, directly over the top of her breast. As of late, her ankle had been her go-to spot simply for ease of access, but the other locations showed scars, some pink, some white, depending on their age. Since that night, she'd made good on her promise and not harmed herself anywhere. Granted, it wasn't that she'd ever harmed herself on a _daily_ basis before; it had been once, maybe twice a week. When he'd seen them, the cuts had been three or four days old. It had been over a week since she'd last harmed herself, and as her fingers smoothed over the satiny ribbon, she realized with mild surprise that it had been that long simply because she hadn't felt the urge to need to do it.

Tommy seeing some of her cuts and scars had been a blessing in disguise. Previously it had been her secret shame, her dirty little secret, one that she carried with her all day, every day. She knew her parents would be heartbroken if they knew; her sisters would be hurt and pissed. Even Bunz, who was notoriously calm and collected no matter what the situation was, had been moved almost to tears when Sammi had shown her. But now that at least two people knew her secret, it gave her a sense of accountability. She didn't care much if she hurt herself, but between Tommy and Bunz, she didn't care to hurt either one of them. And while she knew that she wouldn't be subjected to strip searches – although, Sammi knew better than to put anything past Bunz – she also knew that if she were to harm herself again after it had been brought to light would make her feel horrible and guilty, and disappointed in herself, whether anyone knew about it or not. She knew that even if she recovered emotionally, a part of her would _always _want to hurt herself when her emotions went "dark side". But she knew she had to begin to develop the strength to move past that, because disappointing people she never wanted to disappoint would be far, far worse than any emotional trauma she could suffer.

Sammi pushed off the floor and drew her legs in, stretching her arms gracefully overhead as she leaned to either side. She got to her feet and gripped one of the _barres_ that spanned the entire studio, still looking out the window as she began some strengthening and toning exercises to warm her legs and ankles. She did _plies, tendus, rond de jambes,_ and just started some vigorous _grands battements_ when she heard her cell phone tinkle from across the studio.

She lowered herself from her _en pointe_ position and hurried across the room, humorously noting that even while not dancing, she ran like a dancer – toe to heel. She reached for her bag that she'd slung against the wall with her vegan leather jacket and pulled her phone out. She had a text message from Tommy.

_"__Hey. I know you're at the studio tonight but I was wondering if I could come by later on when you're home. I've got some clients for a couple hours so I'm not sure exactly when I can leave, but I wanted to see you."_

A warm fluttery feeling filled her lower belly as she read the message. She checked the time; it was a quarter after six.

"_Sure,_" she replied, her thumbs moving furiously. "_That sounds great. I'll be home around eight tonight."_

_"__I'll let you know when I'm on my way," _he responded. "_See you soon."_

Sammi clutched the phone for a moment before replacing it in her bag. She bit her lip as a smile spread over her face. Her desire to work on her dance immediately went away, as she suddenly wanted to do nothing else but go home and primp herself, but she shook the thought quickly and focused on what she was here to do. The dance wouldn't perfect itself.

She went through it once to go through all of the choreography she'd created, piecing it together. She made some immediate changes as she'd blundered some of the counts of her dance against the music, making the corrections quickly as the solutions came to her. Once the initial round of errors was ironed out, she went over the dance again, not full-out, envisioning the movements in her mind as well as watching them reflected back at her. Then, she did the entire dance full out in her pointe shoes, and then again full-out in her dance footies. After that, she hesitated, torn. She loved dancing _en pointe_, had always loved it, and in fact had shown such dedication and skill in her early years as a dancer that she had begun training _en pointe _at the age of nine, as opposed to twelve like many girls. But somehow, the dance became more emotionally raw, more visceral, in the casual footies. They were like flesh-toned fingerless gloves for her feet, with holes to separate each toe and covering just the ball of her foot. They gave her the appearance of dancing barefoot, and for the song she'd chosen and the emotion of her movements as translated through the emotion of the song, she knew she'd have to use the footies for her performance.

As she caught her breath, sweating, her hands on her hips, she began to wonder exactly what _else_ she would wear for her performance. She hadn't performed in _such _an incredibly long time – not since just after graduating college when she'd worked with a fledgling dance company in New York. Although she had double-majored in dance and English, she hadn't been able to do much with either degree and simply couldn't make enough to support herself with the company, so she'd begun working full time in her family's café. Previously, for any performance she'd had, she'd ordered her costumes out of a ridiculously priced costume catalog. Even something simple could cost a hundred dollars or more. That was simply out of the question. She'd have to give it some thought, and she'd have to decide on something soon. The showcase was a few weeks away.

She went over the dance three more time, trying to envision what sort of costume would best complement the song and the dance. She suddenly decided that the simpler she went, the better. The dance was good; she was proud of it. In fact, she decided that it was the best dance piece she had ever created, and that sudden knowledge and belief flooded through her and filled her with pride. She was baring her soul, baring her wounds, releasing her turmoil.

_Baring my wounds._

Sammi stared at herself in the mirror, stared into her own warm brown eyes. She watched herself frown. Her eyes slid slower down her reflection, stopping at all the "hot spots" on her body that carried her scars. An idea for a costume captured her mind, and she realized that it was the only costume that she could have ever worn for this song and this dance.

Abruptly, she turned on her heel and crossed the studio. She stepped into her rain boots and slung her jacket on, and headed home to wait for Tommy.

:O:O:O:

She'd had enough time to shower and blow-dry her hair and change into clean and comfortable clothing. In fact, she'd had enough time to fall asleep on the couch before she jolted awake at the sound of a dull knock on her door. She shook her head quickly and hopped off her couch, Rocky at her feet, and made her way to the door. She looked through the peephole and saw a black hood obscuring most of a face, but the telltale toothpick jutting out from a pair of sinfully luscious lips was just enough identity for her.

She smiled and unlatched each of her locks and pulled the door open, meeting his eyes right away. She knew he didn't really smile much in general, and she got an enormous kick out of the fact that he allowed himself to do so around her. Her eyes slid down and saw in surprise that he held a cardboard bowl in each hand, bearing the logo of her favorite yogurt place that was just down the street from the Y. In fact, she had thought about stopping there before heading home, but she had stayed at the studio a little too late and was afraid she'd run out of time, and showering and washing her hair was simply nonnegotiable.

"What's that?" she exclaimed, stepping back to let him in. He shuffled the toothpick in his mouth to the other corner and leaned down to lazily press the side of his mouth into her cheek, making her dimple deeper. And that made him smile wider before he quickly looked away and shook his head. As she shut the door and relocked it, she glanced over her shoulder, pleased with the comfortable way he dropped onto her sofa, setting the containers on the coffee table to pet Rocky, who immediately jumped onto the couch and stepped into his lap.

"Hey, man," he said to the cat quietly, scratching him on the top of his head between his ears. Rocky's eyes squeezed shut and he leaned into Tommy's hand in ecstasy, his tail curling at the tip. For a moment, the only noise was his loud purring.

"Looks like Rocky's claimed you for his own, now," Sammi observed, moving toward the sofa and sitting down, tucking her feet underneath her.

"What do you mean?" Tommy asked, his fingers moving to scratch the side of Rocky's face. The cat swiped his cheeks against Tommy's hand then stepped closer, bunting him in the chest softly before stretching up to swipe either side of his face against Tommy's jacket.

"He's marking you," Sammi said. Tommy glanced up at her, cocking an eyebrow.

"He's not gonna piss on me or something is he?" he demanded.

Sammi laughed out loud. "No," she reassured him. "I mean…I don't think so. Maybe. He's never been around a boy before."

"Not even your dad?" Tommy asked.

"He doesn't like cats, so whenever he comes over I have to put Rocky in the bathroom until he leaves," Sammi explained.

"Yeah, he doesn't strike me a cat person," Tommy commented. "Or an animal person, really."

"He's not," Sammi confirmed. "I wanted to get a small dog too but he refused. He said whenever I'd like to move out and start paying rent I can do whatever I want." She laughed.

"I dunno," Tommy said. "Not paying rent might be worth not getting a dog for a while."

Sammi shrugged and smirked. "Maybe." Her eyes flickered to the cardboard bowls on the coffee table. "Which one is mine?"

Tommy smiled and leaned forward, picking up a bowl and handing it over. Sammi took it eagerly and peered down at it as she popped the clear plastic dome lid off. She saw two shades of brown-colored, slightly melted frozen yogurt with a variety of junky toppings, just like she liked.

"What have we here?" she murmured, accepting the plastic orange spoon he offered her as well. She took a bite of each. She tasted her favorite flavor, peanut butter cup, and took a second small bite of the other, letting the rich, savory and sweet flavor flow over her tongue. "Salted caramel?" she asked.

Tommy nodded. "I tried that pie you gave me," he said. "And it was really good. I was thinking about what you said about salty/sweet flavors and thought you might like that."

"I do," she replied. She glanced at him from under her lashes. "A lot." He leaned back against the sofa cushion and studied her, shifting the toothpick in his mouth around. Her face started to heat up and she glanced back down at her yogurt. "What did you get?" she asked, clearing her throat. "Something boring, I'm sure."

He laughed and reached for his bowl. "Yeah. Sorry to disappoint."

Sammi clicked on her television and scrolled through the channels as they ate their snacks. As she breezed past ESPN, she doubled back, seeing the word "Ithaca" flash across the screen. Tommy glanced up at the screen as the report said that now, due to state MMA regulations, the number of fighters had been doubled in respect to the size of the purse. Sammi glanced at Tommy.

"What's this mean for you?" she asked, then realized that was probably a stupid question, and said so. "Sorry. I don't know the first thing about MMA."

"No, it's okay," Tommy said, setting his empty bowl back on the coffee table. "It just means that my chances of winning have statistically plummeted." He shrugged. "And it'll be a long weekend."

"Oh," Sammi said. "I got it." She swirled her yogurt around. "But _plummeted_, though? Really? You're really good."

Tommy half-smiled, still watching the screen. "Thanks," he said. "I said _statistically_. That's where all my training comes in." He glanced over at her. "In that sense, my odds are the same as everyone else's, roughly. Could be better or worse, depending on how they've trained and their overall skill and talent."

Sammi nodded thoughtfully at his words, pulling her spoon slowly out of her mouth. She pointed it at him. "What's your song gonna be?"

Tommy blinked in surprise. "What?"

"The song you walk out to. They all have one. I remember that you never did, except for when the Marines sang their hymn to you."

Tommy shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't thought about that at all. Probably nothing."

"No way," Sammi said in disbelief. "You have to have _something_. You can't have nothing!"

"Why?" Tommy asked, seeming very amused by her. "What difference does it make?"

"It makes _all _the difference!" Sammi exclaimed. "Are you kidding me? Certain songs touch different emotions in you, get you riled up or calm you down. There's a reason why runners listen to songs with high-energy melodies and beats, or why people who want to calm down listen to jazz or classical, or something like that."

He smiled at her vehemence. "All right," he said. "What song do you think I should have?"

"Well, I don't know," she said, exasperated. "Only you know that. But you have to find one."

He laughed, folding his arms over his chest. "Okay. I'll work on it. But I'm only doing this for you."

She smiled widely. "Thanks, I appreciate that." She paused. "It should probably be some super hard rock song or like angry rap or something."

He lifted a hand. "You wanna pick it out?"

"No, no," she hastened to say. "Just saying. That seems to suit you the most."

He smiled at her and she shrugged, and they both resumed watching television. Sammi leaned her head on a sofa pillow, noting there were at least three cushions between them on her sectional couch.

"How's your dance comin' along?" he asked after a moment. She lifted her head.

"Good," she said. "It's all finished. I just have to work out the kinks now."

"Kinks?"

"Yeah," she replied. "All the imperfections, just tightening everything up and fine-tuning it all. And I decided on my footwear and my costume."

"Footwear?" he repeated. "I mean, wouldn't you just wear –" His eyes lit on her pointe shoes slung over her hall closet door handle. "Those?"

She glanced over at them. "I was going to, but I decided on something different."

"What's your costume look like?"

"Well, it doesn't exist yet," she explained. "But you'll just have to wait and see."

"Wait and see," he repeated. "Does that mean I'm invited?"

She half-smiled and glanced down at the cushion shyly, playing with a loose thread. "Would you _want_ to come?"

"Of course," he said automatically. "What song did you pick?"

She smiled again. "I'm not sure if I should reveal that or not," she said. "You know, to maintain the integrity of the dance and all."

Tommy chuckled. "Whatever that means," he said teasingly.

At that moment, a local commercial came on, advertising the performance of _Giselle _in two nights. Sammi's face fell, though she tried not to let it. She'd almost – _almost – _forgotten that the performance was just around the corner, and disappointment washed through her anew.

Tommy was watching her face. "Still no luck with tickets? Scalpers, eBay, nothin'?"

She half-smiled for his benefit. "No. No luck. It's okay. I've seen it before and I have it on DVD." She tried to sound neutral but her voice came out sad and wistful.

Tommy glanced at her again. "Well, how about this," he began, and Sammi gave him her full attention, her brows lifted with curiosity. "Thursday night, me and you, we go somewhere, hang out, take your mind off it."

Sammi's smile widened. "That's really sweet of you," she said. "Really. But it's okay. I'm just being dramatic about it."

"Okay," Tommy said. "So how about we just hang out together because we want to?"

Sammi bit back a grin. "You mean like a _date_?"

"Would that be so bad?"

_Are you fucking kidding me?_ she thought. "No. That would not be bad at all."

"All right, then," he said. "How about dinner and a movie? I've been wantin' to check out that place downtown, Elements."

Sammi's head snapped up alertly. "That's my favorite restaurant."

Tommy raised his scarred eyebrow at her mildly. "Oh, yeah? Cool. So you know it's good, then."

"Very good," she replied. _Also very expensive and fancy,_ she thought. She wanted to tell him she'd be fine with pizza and beer somewhere but didn't want to offend him; she hoped he didn't think she was high maintenance or anything.

"So, is it a date then?" he asked softly. "Can you get off work in time for dinner at, say, six?"

"Early dinner," she commented, but smiled. "Yes. I can. That should be fine."

"Good," he said, and seemed to relax a little. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"Brendan and his wife, Tess, are having this thing at their house on Sunday," he started. "Like a barbecue. They, uh – they want me to bring you."

Sammi lifted her eyebrow again. "And you don't want to?" she teased darkly.

"No, no," Tommy said. "I do. I just – I don't want you to be, like, uncomfortable or anything."

"Why would I?" Sammi asked curiously. "Your brother seems like a nice guy. I have to think his wife is like that too. And I'd like to meet your nieces."

"It's my dad," he said in a rush. "You know. I told you he used to whale on me and Brendan when we were kids, and, well, we're moving past that. But he used to beat up my mom, and I don't want you to –" He shrugged. "You know, because of what you went through. I don't want you to think about anything or look at my dad and wonder –"

Sammi abruptly rose from her seat and moved closer to him, dropping down on the couch next to him and placed her hand on his forearm.

"Tommy," she said calmly, tilting her head. "Stop. You're…_so nice_ to worry about me like that. Really. I've never had anyone like that outside my family and Bunz to care so much about my mental comfort. Seriously. But I'm okay. I mean, I'm getting there. I would love to meet your whole family including your father." She looked into his eyes, so he could see her sincerity. "Okay? I'll really be okay, I promise. And if I'm not, I'll tell you. Okay?"

He sighed and looked into her eyes. "Okay. I – sorry," he said with a shrug. "I just – I've never known anyone who's gone through what you have so I don't really know what I should be doing or not be doing. I just want to make sure you'll be okay – all the time. I know you're…vulnerable."

"Vulnerable," she agreed. "Damaged, even." She squeezed his forearm gently. "But I'm not broken."

He looked down at her hand on his arm, and finally reached over, a little hesitantly, and wrapped his own hand around it, pulling it off his arm and squeezing it between his own two hands before letting it go.

"I know you're not," he said firmly.

"So we have a date on Thursday," Sammi said teasingly, wanting to lighten the mood. "And I'm getting to see what Sunday dinner at your family's house looks like."

"It _should _be a little quieter," he teased. "You guys are…_loud."_

Sammi tossed her head back and laughed. "Yes, we are," she admitted. She grinned cheekily. "That's part of our charm, though."

"That, and death threats," Tommy said agreeably. "Sure."

"You liked it," she said, shoving his shoulder a little. "So is that why you wanted to come over here? To bring me yogurt and ask me on two dates?"

Tommy shrugged. "That, and I just wanted to see you."

"You did?" she asked, hating herself for both the happy eagerness in her voice and her corresponding smile.

In response, he reached out and brushed a finger over one of her dimples. "I like those," he admitted. "I like seeing them. I can tell when you're giving me a little bullshit smile and when you really mean it." He stroked her cheek. "They're deeper when you smile for real."

Her cheeks flamed, but she couldn't look away or stop smiling.

After a moment, Tommy sighed and dropped his hand, glancing at his watch. Sammi looked at the clock and saw that it was almost ten.

"I gotta get back," he said reluctantly. "I need to finish some paperwork and then I'm sparring with Fen after we close."

"Okay," Sammi said as he rose. She allowed him to take her by the hands and pull her to her feet. "Thank you for – everything," she said. "Yogurt. The Thursday dinner invitation. The Sunday dinner invitation. You had me at the yogurt, though, just so you know."

"I did?" Tommy asked teasingly, still holding her hands. "I'll have to remember that. All it takes is some frozen yogurt and she's putty in my hands."

Sammi chuckled and rolled her eyes. She looked at their hands still clasped together, and intertwined her fingers with his gently. She watched his hand close around hers, firmly and securely, and inhaled deeply, realizing she could smell him. There was a crisp, clean smell about him that seemed to be his natural fragrance, mingling nicely with the light scent of his spicy cologne. She lifted her eyes to his and saw that he was watching her face closely. She swallowed, working up her nerve, then slowly pressed up on her toes, lifting her face toward his. She didn't wait for him to meet her; she leaned into him and let the fingers of her other hand slip from his and graze the side and back of his neck softly and she brought her lips to his, letting her eyes close.

Much like _she_ had the first time, Tommy stood very still, as though he were allowing her to be in charge and set the pace. He kissed her back very softly, and when she felt his lips press back against hers, it made her heart begin to pound and her grip on the back of his neck tightened unconsciously. He pulled her hand around his back while his free hand slid up her hip to the small of her back, pressing her closer against him. She felt his lips part slightly and close briefly around her bottom lip, pulling gently at it. She ran her hand up his heavily muscled back and wrapped her arm around his neck, and for the second time, gathered her nerve. She let her tongue creep past her lips and brushed it against his bottom lip. She felt him pause for a moment, as though he were silently wondering if she'd meant to do that, so she did it again. She felt both of his hands tighten on her waist and a moment later, felt the soft caress of his tongue as the tip of it met hers and stroked it gently. Her synapses exploded at the sensation; just the slight touch made her head swim. Her fingers gripped the hair at the back of his neck and she pulled herself impossibly closer, now intent on nothing else but feeling his tongue against hers again. The force of her eagerness made him take a small step back with one leg to maintain his balance, but he never broke away from her and slid one hand under her hair to grip the base of her skull lightly; it almost felt like he was massaging the base of her scalp and it felt wonderful.

She slipped her tongue past her lips again, and further between his, and felt his mouth open slightly for her. A moment later, she felt that wonderful soft, moist warmth of his tongue as he slid it languidly around hers, a little further along its length this time than before. A strange, warm, prickling heat spread through her at the sensation. In the next moment, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt his lips close gently around her tongue and pull. She was so surprised at the intensity of the flare of pleasure she felt from it, she let out a soft gasp. Instantly, he pulled away.

"What is it?" he asked softly. "You good?"

"Good, yes," she breathed, her eyes locked onto his mouth as she leaned in again. She felt him smile against her lips at her insistence before moving his lips over hers slowly in a curious and deeply pleasurable way, a mixture of brushing and pressing and pulling, before he coaxed her lips apart again and teased the tip of her tongue with his, before resuming his place more deeply within her mouth. She wasn't sure how long they slowly and leisurely feasted on each other's mouths; she was losing track of time rapidly and found that she couldn't have cared less than she did in that moment.

Aside from the wonderful things he was doing with his lips and tongue, his hands were alternating stroking and squeezing her, one hand in her hair and one at the small of her back. He stroked her back soothingly, slowly, before squeezing gently at her waist and then starting over. The hand in her hair massaged and tugged, her sensitive scalp tingling at his touch.

Slowly, as though he was trying to not startle her again, he gradually closed his lips around her tongue once more and suckled gently, the pulling sensation odd but pleasant. His lips pulled down the length of her tongue, releasing it at the very tip, before his lips immediately latched onto her bottom lip. He gave her another slow, moist, brushing, pressing, pulling kiss before his teeth nipped gently at her lip and he pulled away.

"I have to go," he murmured, leaning down to brush his cheek against hers, the words reverberating in her ear and his warm breath on her skin making her shiver.

"I know," she whispered back. "Sorry. I didn't mean to – sidetrack you."

He pressed his face lightly into the side of her neck for a brief moment and chuckled, the sound sending ripples across her skin. He pulled away and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Yeah, you did."

He kept her hand in his as he moved to the door. He unlatched her three locks and pulled it open. Once he was over the threshold, he turned to look back at her. His eyes scanned her face, which she knew was still flushed. He reached out and touched her face where her dimples were, then pulled her toward him for one more kiss.

"Good night," he murmured against her lips. "Call you later."

"Bye," she said softly. She didn't want to close the door on him, but she knew he would wait until he heard her lock up. She smiled shyly at him, suddenly unable to meet his eyes or stop smiling, and shut the door gently. She locked up, and listened as his footsteps moved down the hall. She dropped on the couch, stretching out, and her fingers moved to her lips as she closed her eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hi, all of you lovely readers! Happy Friday to you. So, I hope that the fluff of the past many chapters has been okay with you. This story won't be super big on action; I'm focusing more on character and relationship development so there will be a lot - a LOT - of fluffy chapters. I hope that's okay with you. If not...well, you don't have to read :-) Also a quick note on this chapter and the next one - I am aware that the real Elements in Pittsburgh has actually closed as of last summer. But in my story it's still going strong. 'K? 'K! Read on, my dears. And leave me reviews. Lots, and lots, of reviews. Nice ones. PM me flames. Don't put my bidness out there. Um...yeah. Onward with the storytelling.**

**Chapter 18**

Sweat poured down Tommy's face as he unconsciously chomped down on his mouth guard, shuffling his feet quickly as his eyes locked onto his opponent. They circled each other in the ring, their movements different as their fighting styles were different, but all the same, they each possessed similar traits. Each moved with his head low, favoring his right side, eyes shifting almost in a mirrored fashion. Their legs took a similar stride length, their feet moved quickly, their fists rose into the same loose guard position. It was like they were brothers.

Because they _were _brothers.

Brendan's eyes bored into him alertly, taking in everything from the way Tommy was breathing, where he was looking, which side of his body was turned toward him, which way his feet were pointing, how he shuffled, in the instant before he lunged. Tommy knew what he was looking for, because it was also what he looked for, what any good fighter would look for. He focused on his older brother and quickly blocked the jab Brendan threw, and then shifted to the other side and blocked the accompanying hook. He lifted a knee to block the kick, and used his strength to shove Brendan away before he could sweep his feet out from underneath him.

"Good," Brendan called to him, quickly pulling out his mouth guard. "Very good. You're much faster now, Tommy."

"I was fast before, you prick," Tommy called back.

"Not like this," Brendan said, shaking his head. "Not like this."

Tommy had been consistently sparring with Fen during his training, but now that he was getting closer to Ithaca, he needed to crank it up a notch. Fenroy was good, a strong and skilled fighter; but who better to train with than the man that had bested him and won Sparta?

Brendan had kept up with his training and still fought sporadically, though not nearly to the frequency he fought leading up to Sparta. Tommy guessed it had to do with not really needing to, since Brendan was capitalizing off the endorsement deals coming his way just like they were coming Tommy's way, and Brendan was a little more personable and had dome some interviews. He fought now a few times a year, at the bigger tournaments, usually winning them, and otherwise spent time with his family. Since Sparta and after Tommy had recovered from his dislocated shoulder, he and Brendan had sparred a couple of times, but those matches had been mainly for the fun of it. Tommy needed him now, needed him to give him everything he had to help him win the upcoming tournament.

They had already been at it for hours; both of them were exhausted but neither one was willing to be the first to say so. And so, they just kept fighting. Though Brendan was older and had in the past proven himself to be quicker than Tommy, a bit more agile, Tommy could tell his big brother was flagging and couldn't help feeling a surge of triumph and pride that he was getting the best of Brendan.

It was compounded when he managed to snag Brendan in a headlock, using his legs to lock Brendan's in place, and Brendan finally – _finally – _tapped out. Tommy immediately released him and they both dropped to the floor of the ring, panting and thoroughly spent.

Brendan lifted a hand into the air. "I caught a cramp on that last one," he managed. "Otherwise I never woulda tapped."

Tommy snorted tiredly from where he was sprawled in one corner. "Yeah. Whatever, big brother. Shove it up your ass. I won fair and square."

Brendan laughed breathlessly. "Fine, fine. You won. You got this tournament in the bag, Tommy. Don't even sweat it."

Tommy hated to admit it, but hearing himself be validated out of Brendan's mouth meant a lot to him. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We'll see. Thanks for sparring with me."

"Sure," Brendan said, grunting loudly as he sat up and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I could use the exercise anyway. But dammit, Tommy, did you have to punch me in the face?" He gingerly touched the fresh, raised cut on his cheekbone where Tommy had cracked him smartly.

"Oh, you thought I was gonna go easy on you?" Tommy asked, amused.

"Tess is gonna be pissed at you," Brendan warned.

"She'll be all right," Tommy said with a smirk. "I know you're fragile, but you'll heal."

Brendan barked out a laugh and shook his head, unwrapping his hands. "Fragile, huh? Maybe so." He pulled off his wraps and tossed them down, rolling his head around on his neck.

Meanwhile, Tommy still lay in a motionless heap in his corner, content to do absolutely nothing for a few minutes. It was late on Wednesday evening, and the gym had finally emptied out. When Brendan made his appearance earlier in the gym that evening to spar with Tommy, it was a fan free-for-all for a while before Tommy could get people to calm down. Naturally, they had quite a crowd watching them spar for the first hour or so. Gradually people had started to straggle off once their match stretched into two hours, and after that, people had finally filed out.

Tommy felt really good about his progress since he'd begun training. Not that he'd ever really fallen off in terms of staying in shape, but as Brendan had noticed, he had become much faster, much more agile and even stronger than before. Sparring for hours with Brendan, who made it a point to stay in tip-top shape at all times, was the icing on the cake for him. If he could beat Brendan, he wasn't particularly worried about his opponents. However, now was not the time, nor was he the type, to get cocky. He knew there was a fine line between being confident and being cocky, and that line could cost him the purse. And so, he would continue to train up until next week when he left, and he would continue to watch film on the other fighters and make notes of their strengths, weaknesses, and abilities.

"So, you talk to Sammi about Sunday?" Brendan asked, breaking into Tommy's reverie.

"Yeah, yeah," Tommy said, groaning himself as he pushed into a sitting position. "She said she'd come."

"And Pop? You told her about Pop? How was she about that, since you mentioned she had a rough past?"

"Fine," Tommy said with a shrug. "Totally fine. I guess I'm the one with the issue, not her."

"What happened to her, if you don't mind me asking?" Brendan asked softly.

Tommy shrugged. "Some really, really bad shit. I don't think it's for me to say, really. I sort of found out on accident myself. I'm not sure she would have ever told me. But…it was bad, man."

Brendan nodded musingly. "That's probably all the information I need," he said lightly. "But I'm glad to hear she's coming. Ever since the girls found out she's a ballet dancer they've been bugging the shit out of me about her."

Tommy couldn't help laughing. "Why?"

"They keep asking me if I think she'll teach them some things when she comes over. You know they're both getting into dance stuff now."

Tommy recalled that on one of the last times he'd been by to see them, Rosie and Emily had taken him by the hands and demanded that he follow them so they could show him their ballet shoes, their little tutus, and all of the things that they'd learned at their most recent lesson. He groaned inwardly but it was with amusement – now that they knew Sammi was a "real ballerina", they'd never leave her alone once she set foot in the house.

"I'm sure she'd like that, anyway," Tommy said. "She's good with kids, has some nieces and nephews of her own. And she is a dance teacher, after all."

"Good," Brendan said. "I know everyone is looking forward to meeting her."

Tommy cleared his throat and occupied himself with taking off his own wraps. "I'm, uh, takin' her to go see that ballet that's coming into town tomorrow," he said. "As a surprise."

Brendan looked at him and lifted his eyebrows. "Tommy Conlon, burnin' romantic at heart," he joked. "Orchestrating _surprises _for a special young lady. Who woulda thunk?"

"Shut up," Tommy said, instantly regretting telling him. Brendan laughed and patted the air.

"Calm down, I'm just givin' you shit," he said. "That's nice of you. What made you do that?"

"Well, it's her favorite," Tommy mumbled. "She couldn't get tickets, so I got some. Thought I'd do somethin' nice for her, since, like I said, she's had a rough year."

"Nothin' in it for you, either, right?" Brendan said suggestively, chuckling again.

"It is not even like that, man," Tommy said solemnly.

"Maybe not _yet_," Brendan amended. "C'mon, Tommy. Surprising a girl with ballet tickets? _Ballet _tickets! Not to mention meeting her family right away, bringin' her to meet ours…I think my baby brother's in love!"

"Whatever, man," was the best Tommy could muster as his thoughts immediately turned to her.

He knew he wasn't in love with Sammi. But he also knew he _did_ really like her and that that "like" had the potential to grow into something more. And while the things he'd done for her or because of the fact that he liked her warranted no expectation of a counteraction on her part along the lines of what his brother was suggesting, he couldn't help but wonder. His mind immediately took him back to the previous night, saying goodbye to her inside her apartment. She'd shocked the shit out of him when he'd felt her tongue brush over his lip, so much so that he'd been sure it had been accident. But when she did it again, there was no mistaking what she was asking for, and he'd been only too happy to acquiesce her. In terms of physicality, he found himself at an impasse. On one hand, he knew the hideous attack she'd endured last year had done a lot of damage, damage he couldn't even fathom, to her body, her mind, her soul, most of all, her trust. He felt completely uncertain of how to proceed with her. They'd broken the first physical barrier – but what was too much? What was she open to? What were her limits? He knew that they'd likely have to discover those answers together, but in the meantime, he felt completely inadequate in dealing with her – he wanted to be as sensitive as possible, which in and of itself was typically unheard of as far as he went, and he never wanted to do anything to hurt or upset her. On the other hand, he _was _a man. And she was a woman to whom he was completely and decidedly attracted to, and one with whom he would _love _to break a few more boundaries with. He hadn't felt this way about a woman in an extremely long time, and hadn't dealt with a woman on any level in almost as long. Hell, just tasting her lips and tongue last night had rocked him up like he'd never been rocked up before, not even when he'd seen her practically naked in front of him, and he'd had to be very carefully about holding her just slightly away from him, lest she feel just how much he was enjoying what was going on. He thought about her face, how it had looked when he'd turned to look back at her once he'd walked out the door. Her cheeks had been pink, her hair tousled from his hand, her warm brown eyes bright and sparkling. Her lips, slightly swollen from their exercise, were such a tantalizing shade of dark pink, and she'd been biting at her lower lip in such a way, that he simply couldn't resist stealing just one more kiss. He'd been able to think of little else since then. And he needed to think of something else, and fast, as his body was beginning to stir at the memory and that was just not good business with his brother sitting right there.

Tommy cleared his throat and got to his feet, giving Brendan his back as he reached for his sweating bottle of cold water, drinking half of it in one gulp in an effort to shock his body into calming down.

"Listen, man," Brendan said. "I know I'm giving you shit here. But really – I'm glad that you like this girl. Really glad. I hope it works out. It's good to see you happy. Happi_er_."

Tommy snorted over his shoulder, but he appreciated his brother's words. "Well, thanks, I guess," he replied. "We'll see how it goes."

"Now, about the ballet," Brendan asked seriously. "Do you have to wear your _own_ tights, or do they hand them out at the door?"

He yelped and dodged out of the way, not fast enough, as Tommy hurled his water bottle at his head.

:O:O:O:

Sammi knew she'd been a worthless employee on Thursday, and as she hustled home early at four that afternoon, she knew she owed Bunz a _huge _debt of gratitude. Bunz had been letting her leave early several times a week to go to the Y to work on her showcase piece, and when she'd heard about the dinner date that evening and the movie afterward, her eyes had lit up and she'd seemed absolutely delighted, practically insisting that Sammi leave at three-thirty. Sammi had refused to leave that early, but when four o'clock came around, Bunz had all but kicked her out.

"I owe you," Sammi had said, grabbing her bag and jacket.

"Just make sure I'm the maid of honor and that I do the wedding cake," she'd replied. "Now get the hell out of here!"

Sammi burst into her apartment and shut the door, locking it off of muscle memory, and hurried to the bathroom immediately. Rocky ran at her feet and she quickly bent down and petted him, dropping a kiss on the soft spot on the top of his head, right in the middle, before jumping into the shower. She'd been fretting since Tuesday night about what to wear; she knew Elements was a dressy place, but that they were also going to the movies afterward. She wasn't sure which to dress for, but ultimately decided she'd better dress for the restaurant. It was spring, a chilly spring at that, but she had a pretty pale pink, short skater-style halter dress with a large, open diamond shaped back she really wanted to wear. She knew she'd be cold, and had a cropped white trench coat to wear over the top, but her legs would just have to suffer, as the dress ended several inches above the knee. That brought up another matter.

She glanced down at the inside of her ankle. The cuts had healed additionally, but were still visible. She didn't want to draw attention to them by putting a bandage over them, and besides, a bandage slapped on the inside of her ankle would detract from her outfit. She decided to use makeup, and applied concealer and powder as best she could to match her skin tone. The healing wound's appearance was greatly reduced; in fact, the cuts couldn't even be seen from a distance. A person would have to be up close and personal with her skin in order to see that it wasn't flawless.

Her stomach knotted in on itself with nerves as she applied her makeup and fixed her hair, managing to coax the mix of fine and coarse strands into large, smooth waves. She added a little gold jewelry in the form of gold diamond studs, a delicate gold chain necklace, a single gold midi ring and a gold bracelet on the opposite wrist. It was a quarter to six when she heard a knock on her door, so she hastily stepped into her nude high heels and grabbed her jacket and clutch before scurrying to the door. She peeked through the peephole, and unlatched her locks and opened the door.

Tommy was resplendent in crisp charcoal gray slacks and a simple black and white pinstripe button-up shirt, tucked into the pants. She could never imagine seeing him so dressed up – he looked like a completely different person. He had a tiny bit of product to tame his dark hair, but he was still scruffy and wore his large-face black sports watch. And she knew instinctively that no matter what he did or where he went in life, a tie would forever be out of the question.

His eyes lit up at the sight of her, and she felt nervous, flattered anticipation as they moved down her body. She knew she looked nice because she had put a lot of effort into looking this way, and she could tell by his reaction that those efforts paid off. She didn't need or even want to hear him say it aloud; the look on his face and the slight smile on his lips and the fact that he couldn't seem to stop staring were compliments enough. But she couldn't stop herself from paying him one in kind verbally.

"You clean up very well, Mr. Conlon," she said shyly. Without giving him a chance to reply, she added, "I need to feed Rocky really quick before we leave. It'll just be a second."

He bobbed his head and watched as she turned toward the kitchen after laying her jacket and her clutch over the back of the couch, knowing he was watching still as she moved into the kitchen. She dished Rocky out some food, which he was waiting patiently for, and refreshed his water bowl. When she turned back around to head for the door, she was pleasantly surprised to see Tommy picking up her white jacket and silently holding it open for her. She had never had anyone help her into a jacket before as an adult, and certainly not a man that she was interested in. She had never taken Tommy to be such a gentleman and with every new revelation that this was just his way, she was surprised anew. She knew his mother had raised him as a teenager and Sammi supposed that she'd instilled in him the gentlemanly qualities that he frequently seemed to display. She would have liked to meet his mother, knowing that he had been extremely close to her, and briefly lamented the fact that she never would.

She slipped her arms into her jacket and he straightened the lapels over her shoulders before taking a slight step back. Sammi tightened the jacket around herself and scooped up her clutch. With a final look back at Rocky, blissfully immersing himself in his bowl of dry food, she smiled up at Tommy.

"Shall we?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Tommy couldn't help stealing glances at Sammi in the passenger seat of his Charger as they drove toward downtown Pittsburgh. He'd been practically speechless ever since laying eyes on her when she first opened the door of her apartment, but luckily she hadn't seemed to notice he hadn't been saying much so far. She'd kept up a steady stream of idle chitchat, telling him about the progress she'd made on her dance, her day at the café, something funny Rocky had done that she wished she'd had time to capture on video. She seemed to be in a relaxed, contented mood. And she looked beautiful, which was the cause of his sudden difficulty with the English language. He'd never seen her look quite this way – in a soft, sweet dress, with her hair styled into silken waves he longed to touch. He'd seen her look athletic in her workout or dance clothes, casual in her funky street clothes, and sexy when she'd worked at Cliff's, and all of it had been _awesome_ because he'd always thought of her as a beautiful girl. But before tonight, he'd never seen her look this…_pretty._ And it took his breath away.

She was still chatting away, glancing out the tinted windows of his car at the gray, drizzly early evening. He was half-listening to what she was saying, but it was hard to focus on anything but her legs, now demurely crossed at the ankle. To him, she had the perfect pair of legs. They were curved and shapely, like a woman's should be, but defined with sleek muscle from years spent honing her craft, with hard, defined calf muscles and shapely quadriceps and hamstrings. And in her short dress, they were set off to perfection. He'd noticed the first night at Cliff's that her legs were great, but they were driving him to distraction now.

"…hope you don't mind fusion places," she was saying. "Elements is all sorts of European cuisine. Hopefully that's okay. They do have steaks and sandwiches and stuff there, too. More guy-friendly foods. They're really creative with their dishes and I've never had anything I didn't like there. Not that I go there that often. Their desserts are really amazing too."

"Sounds good," Tommy murmured, shifting his eyes back to the road. "Looking forward to it."

Finally Sammi glanced over at him. "Are you okay?" she asked. "You've been really quiet since you picked me up."

He smiled to himself. If she only knew that it was because her appearance had him tongue-tied. "I'm good," he promised, glancing over at her. His eyes moved over her face. "I'm great."

"All right," she said suspiciously, but let the matter rest. Tommy cleared his throat and silently chided himself for making her feel that something was wrong, when it was completely the opposite.

"I'm not much of a 'foodie' but I'm willing to try new things," he commented as he navigated the car into a parking garage. "I'm just so used to sticking with my usual stuff that I forget there's a whole other gourmet world out there."

Sammi's smile returned. "Well, then I'm glad I could be the one to guide you through it," she teased. "The first time can be difficult for some."

He smirked, but her double entendre, intended or otherwise, was not lost on him. He parked the car in the first available stall he found, which happened to be close to the elevators. They got out of the Charger and he locked it, hearing the confirmation provided by the electronic beep, and he waited for Sammi to catch up to him as she hurried around the car, her feet moving quickly in her heels as she trotted toward him. He winged his elbow out slightly, a silent invitation, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as he led the way toward the elevator. The elevator was connected to a long window that ran the length of the parking garage, looking out over the downtown area. Tommy saw several groups of people moving down the street, dressed up in fancy clothing. He heard a sigh, and glanced over at Sammi, who was also watching.

"They're probably headed to _Giselle_ tonight," she informed him with a small smile. "That's why they're so dressed up."

He felt a little sense of glee at the surprise he had lined up for her. "Or maybe they're just going to fancy dinner, like us," he replied lightly.

She gave him a half-smile and shrugged. "Maybe," she agreed.

The elevator reached the ground floor and the doors slid open. Sammi took his arm again and they strolled down the street toward the restaurant. Tommy ignored the outright stares that he received from some of the passers-by, but when a few young men practically stopped in their tracks to stare at Sammi, their heads turning, he looked at them steadily and narrowed his eyes. They got the silent message – _threat _– and kept it moving.

"I want to show you something," Sammi said suddenly. They were just across the street from Elements, but Sammi pulled him around the corner of the block and down the street slightly. She stopped in front of a small street front store space that had a "Lease available" sign up in the window along with a phone number.

"This is my studio," she said. "Well, my dream studio."

With new interest, Tommy regarded the façade of the building before cupping his hands around his face to peer inside the window. It was pretty gutted and needed quite a bit of work, but it was in a good location and he could start to envision a little studio like the one she used at the Y.

"I've spoken with the bank, and they know I'm interested," she went on. "But until I make my down payment this place is still considered available. Luckily there don't seem to be any other takers on this property – yet. So I'm sort of in a race against the clock to get my shit together. But I'm close. I'm really close."

Tommy's curiosity was piqued and he wanted to ask her how much more she owed; he would be more than willing to give her what she needed to make sure she got the space for herself and could actually start to realize her goal. But he didn't want to be rude or pry, although he really did want her to know he'd be happy to offer her any help she wanted or needed. But she seemed like the kind of person who would take immense pride in being solely responsible for making her own dreams come true, and would turn down any offers to get her there faster. So, he just nodded.

"Nice little space," he commented. "I could definitely envision a dance studio in here."

She beamed at him and turned her attention back to the window. "I'm workin' on it," she said. She rapped her knuckles on the glass. "This will be mine one day. I'm determined to make it happen." She sighed and let her fingers trail down the window before resuming their place on his arm again. "Let's go."

They crossed the street and entered the restaurant. Tommy noticed how busy it seemed when they walked through the door, the level of chatter loud and constant, as was the clatter of silverware on china.

"Good evening," the hostess said pleasantly, smiling at them as they neared her counter.

"Hi," Tommy replied. "I have a reservation. Conlon."

"Just a moment," the hostess said, turning to her computer. "Ah, yes. Mr. Conlon. I do have a table ready for you. Please follow me." The hostess carefully plucked two elegantly embossed menus from her station before leading them through the restaurant. Sammi's hand slipped from his elbow to his fingers in order to accommodate the narrow path around the other tables. The hostess smiled and extended her hand toward the table, and pulled out Sammi's chair for her as she lowered herself down. The hostess handed a menu to Sammi, then one to Tommy, and told them that their server, Sophie, would be with them shortly.

Tommy glanced around. It was definitely a fancy place, fancier than any place he'd ever been in before. It was dimly lit, with candles glowing on every table and soft overhead lighting from several chandeliers in the ceiling. The tables were made of dark, polished wood, with elegant place settings and comfortable chairs.

Their server, Sophie, appeared and placed two goblets of water down before them and greeted them. "Welcome to Elements," she said. "I'm Sophie and I'll be taking care of you this evening. Have you dined with us before?"

"She has," Tommy replied. "I haven't."

"Well, welcome back," Sophie said to Sammi with a smile. She proceeded to rattle off the impressive list of that evening's specials, then handed Tommy a special wine list. She left to let them look over the menu.

"I won't be drinking," Tommy said, handing over the wine list. "But knock yourself out."

Sammi laughed. "I don't know about knocking myself _out_," she replied. "We've seen what happens when I do that. But I wouldn't mind a glass of red wine."

Tommy glanced over his menu, making an impressed face. "Wow. Gourmet and fancy, for sure." He looked over at Sammi as she pored over the wine list. "What's your favorite thing here?"

"Hmm," she replied. "Probably the salmon with the pumpkin risotto and pan-fried green beans." She looked up and saw Tommy blinking at her, and she laughed. "Not really your thing? Well, I've had the filet mignon here before and it was great."

"Steak for me," he commented with an approving nod.

Sophie returned and took Sammi's wine order as well as their dinner orders and placed a basket of warm, freshly baked bread in front of them. "I'll get your orders in right away," she promised. She glanced at Tommy. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding embarrassed. "But are you Tommy Conlon?"

"Ah, yes," Tommy replied, his face impassive but he shifted slightly in his chair, and Sammi knew he hated being recognized.

"I _sincerely_ hate to trouble you," Sophie went on. "My boyfriend is probably your biggest fan. Would you…would you mind?" She tentatively extended a scrap of paper and a pen out to him.

"Not at all," Tommy said, taking the paper and the pen. "What's his name?"

"Ben," Sophie replied. "And thank you so much. I really hate to bother you, but he would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't get your autograph."

Tommy smirked a little and signed his name to the paper, then handed it over. "Thank you," Sophie said fervently.

"No problem," Tommy replied. When she went away, he sighed. Sammi laughed at him.

"You're a hometown celebrity," she said. "You have to get used to things like this."

"Bullshit," Tommy countered, taking a sip of his water. He shook his head. "I hate that sort of thing. Not that I want to be an asshole to people who support me. I just hate being looked at like…_that_."

"I understand," Sammi said.

Sophie returned with her glass of Shiraz and set it down gently in front of her. "Just wanted to let you know, I told the chefs to prioritize your order," she said with a slightly sheepish smile. She looked at Tommy. "Thanks again."

"You didn't have to do that," Sammi exclaimed. "But thank you."

"No problem at all," Sophie said emphatically. "You two are so dressed up, I thought maybe you might be heading to the ballet tonight. So many diners in here are, and they need to get out of here in time to make it for the show."

"Oh, ah, no, we're not," Sammi said. She smiled. "So really, you didn't have to put any priority on our order."

"We appreciate that, though," Tommy spoke up quickly. "Very nice of you."

"Oh," Sophie continued brightly. "Well, it was my pleasure. The least I can do for disrupting you. Let me know if you'd like anything besides water," she added. "It's on the house."

"No, no," Tommy said hastily. "No, thanks."

"Wow, chef priority _and _free drinks, all for an autograph," Sammi teased when Sophie left. She nudged him playfully with the toe of her heel under the table. "I guess I'm rolling with the big-shots."

Tommy laughed ruefully. "Right." He sipped at his water again and tore a roll in half, then tore the half in half again and set it on his plate. He laughed when Sammi looked at him scornfully and grabbed a full roll and sliced it open, and began slathering it with the seasoned, whipped herb butter that accompanied it while looking at him pointedly.

"I wish I could be like you, I do," he chuckled.

"And I'm so glad I don't have to torture myself like _you,_" she replied. She took a bite of her roll, the flavor of the herb butter making her close her eyes. "Mm. I'd die without bread. Or pasta. I'm Italian, after all."

Tommy watched her with a half-smile. "So at the risk of bringing up a sore subject," he began, "what's this ballet all about, anyway?"

Sammi set her roll down and took a sip of her wine. "_Giselle _is about this young and beautiful peasant girl who meets this duke," she explained. "He's disguised himself as a fellow villager because he sees her and falls in love with her, even though he's engaged to someone else. Giselle falls in love with him, too. She eventually meets his fiancée, not knowing who she really is, or who he really is. When she finds out, she dies of a broken heart." Sammi had a dreamy smile on her face. "And that's all just the first act. The second act is about her spirit rising from the grave to find the duke and forgive him for his deception."

Tommy was more interested in the softness that had come to her face when she spoke about the ballet, but he cleared his throat. "Sounds interesting," he replied. "Maybe if it's a traveling show, you'll get to see it in another city sometime."

Sammi's smile turned wistful again. "Maybe." She tore off another piece of her roll with her fingers. "If not, it's okay. Like I said, I've seen it before, and I have it on DVD. I just love that ballet so much. I saw it for the first time when I was so young and it inspired me to grow up and become a ballerina." She ate the little bit of roll she'd pulled off and took another sip of wine. "So, are you starting to get nervous for your tournament?"

It was obvious she wanted to change the subject but Tommy appreciated the question anyway. "Nervous?" he repeated. "No. Not really nervous. Just focused. And honestly, ready to get it over with. I sparred with Brendan the other day and it went pretty good."

"Oh, yeah," Sammi said with a nod. "That makes sense. He won the last big one, so if you can do well against him, you can kick anyone's ass!"

Tommy laughed. "Yeah, something like that," he replied.

Just then, Sophie showed up with their dinner orders. Tommy looked over his plate. The portion sizes looked good, not too big but enough to fill him up, and his steak looked like it was cooked to perfection. He glanced at Sammi's plate; hers looked good as well.

She caught his eye and smiled, then lifted her wine glass. Curiously, Tommy raised his as well and touched it to hers.

"To all life's successes," she said, then took a sip.

"I'll drink to that," Tommy said with a nod.

As they dug into their meals, Tommy suppressed a groan of appreciation. After weeks of nothing but chicken, fish, complex carbs, whole grains and a mountain of vegetables, a real steak, especially one as good as this, was like heaven. Sammi was making headway with her salmon, and neither spoke for a little while as they enjoyed their meals. That was something about Sammi he appreciated – she had a very healthy appetite and wasn't afraid to eat in front of him. He'd taken girls out in the past who ordered a side salad for an entrée and a glass of water, and it had annoyed him to no end.

"Speaking of life's successes," Sammi said, and he glanced up at her. He noticed she'd set her fork and knife down so he did the same. "I, uh – I wanted to tell you that I decided to testify."

He let a small, proud smile cross his face. "Good for you," he said. "I'm proud of you."

She seemed to glow under his praise, and picked up her fork again. Instead of eating, she started dragging it through her risotto. "My family is going to be there," she said, focusing intently on a grain of risotto. "And Bunz. Well, not _in _the courtroom with me, just at the courthouse. It would be awkward to recant what happened in front of them, and, well, I wouldn't want to put my family through that again. Uh, anyway. It – it would mean a lot to me if you came, too."

He blinked in surprise. "You want me to be there?" he asked quietly.

"It's the Monday right after the Ithaca tournament, in the city," she said quickly. "So I know you'll be really tired and it's like a seven hour drive from Buffalo which is really kinda far for a favor. So if you can't make it or you don't want to, I _totally_ –"

"Sam," he said, lifting a hand in the air. "Stop. You want me there, I'm there. That's it."

She caught her breath from her verbal torrent and bit her lip. "Thanks," she said. "I hope it's not weird that I asked you. It's just – well, outside my family you're the first person I've told what happened to me, and you're the _only_ other person besides B who knows. And, well – " She blushed and dropped her gaze again. "You're a – a good friend to me and I just thought –"

She was doing it again, so Tommy reached over and slipped two of his fingers into the little fist she didn't know she was making to get her attention. Her eyes shifted to their hands and then to his face. He stared intently into her eyes.

"'Nough said," he said quietly. "You had me at 'it would mean a lot to me if you came'." He smiled gently, and she returned it.

"Okay," she said quietly.

They returned to the rest of their meal until Sophie came to check on them and offer the dessert menu. Tommy saw Sammi's eyes light up at the mention of dessert so he discreetly checked his watch. They had about forty-five minutes until the ballet started so he nodded for Sophie to bring the dessert menu. He wasn't huge on sweets but he agreed to split one with Sammi and told her she could choose whatever she liked. She selected a decadent Italian cream lemon layer cake and they each ordered an espresso.

As Sammi picked at the cake, Tommy watched her and sipped at his espresso as a thought came to him. "Since we were on the subject of being supportive for life successes," he began, "what do you think about coming with me to the tournament?"

Sammi looked up at him in surprise, the fork slipping from her finger and clattering onto the table. "Shit. Um, really? You would want me to come? You know I don't know anything about that."

"I'd like you to be there," he said, swirling his curved ribbon of fresh lemon zest in his espresso with a small silver spoon. "My dad and brother and Tess are going. It'd be cool to have you there, too. I don't care if you don't know much about MMA."

"_Anything_," Sammi corrected with a smile. "I don't know _anything_." She paused and delicately licked whipped buttercream off the tines of the fork. She glanced up at him. "Could I – do you mind if I think about it?" She bit her lip. "I know that makes me sound like an asshole, since I asked you to come to my thing, and you said yes right away, and now you're asking me to go to _your _thing and here I am asking to think –"

"Sam, it's okay," he said. "Take all the time you want." He paused. "Well, not _all _the time," he amended. "I'm leaving Thursday morning so I'd need to know before that to make hotel room arrangements for you. So…you could take until Tuesday." He shrugged. "Besides, you _should _probably meet my family first, anyway. You might decide they're too crazy to hang out with." He half-smiled and was pleased when she chuckled.

"Okay," she said. "I'll let you know before Tuesday."

"Good," Tommy said. He looked at his watch again and was surprised to see that a half an hour had flown by. "We should probably get going," he added, reaching for the small, black leather folder containing their check Sophie had left when she'd brought them their dessert and coffee. "The, uh, movie starts soon." The Benedum theater where the ballet was being performed was only a five minute walk from the restaurant, but Tommy still needed to pick up the tickets at the front and he didn't want to hassle with the crowd on the way to their seats.

He left enough cash to cover the bill and a tip, then snapped the folder shut. Sammi was looking at him hesitantly. He cocked his head. "What?"

"Do you –" Her hand hovered over her clutch. "I mean, I can help – I just don't want you to –"

He finally understood what she was getting at and shook his head. "No way. I got it. Let's go."

He rose from his seat and pulled her jacket from the back of her chair, waiting until she had risen to her feet before he helped her slip into it. They made their way outside into the cool evening, the spring sky now a bit darker than before, and Sammi took his arm again. They reached the movie theater and she started to turn in toward it, but Tommy kept moving.

"Tommy," she said in confusion. "The theater's right here."

"Let's take a little walk," he replied calmly. "It's nice outside. We have a little time, I think."

"Doesn't the movie start soon?" she asked, although she let him lead her on. "Which movie are we seeing, by the way?" she went on. "You never said."

Tommy glanced both ways before crossing the street. The Benedum was to their left and there were scores of people walking up and into it. Sammi looked up at him like he'd lost his mind.

"What are we doing?" she asked in utter confusion.

Tommy stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at the brightly lit marquee with "Giselle" on it in huge black letters. He turned and smiled down at Sammi as understanding began to dawn in her eyes.

"Did I say a movie?" he asked casually. He shook his head. "Sorry. I meant a ballet."

Her mouth fell open in surprise and she turned her eyes up toward him, their warm chocolate brown depths filled with wonder and gratitude. She sighed before a slow, sweet smile spread across her face and shadows creased her cheeks deeply where her dimples were on full display.

He couldn't help himself. He leaned down and brushed one of them with his lips. "Showtime," he murmured against her skin. He pulled away, looking into her still smiling face. She was shaking her head slightly and seemed unable to come up with anything to say, but the look on her face said enough. He took her hand in his, feeling hers give his a tight squeeze, and led her inside the theater.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I'm quite sure this submission is RIFE with typos, but I really needed to get this out RIGHT NOW so if there are, I apologize and I will clean it up later. Thanks for all your support and I hope that you like reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it :-)**

**Chapter 20**

Although Tommy would rather have died than ever admit it, he actually ended up enjoying the performance of _Giselle._ Now that he knew what the story was about, he could follow the events and appreciate the interpretation by this particular ballet company. And since he appreciated Sammi's dance ability, he could also appreciate the athleticism of the dancers, the fluidity of their movements, and their overall balance, coordination, and grace.

He groaned inwardly and had to laugh at himself as he thought about what Bren, Fenroy, Leon, his father, even Manny or any of his Marines would say if they knew he'd gone to a ballet. He'd never hear the end of it, but screw it. He sort of liked it. He cast a sidelong glance at Sammi.

He especially liked watching her enjoy it.

When they'd taken their seats, he'd realized that she still hadn't said anything, but she hadn't been able to stop smiling either. He'd turned to her to ask if everything was ok, and before he could get a word out, he felt her hand slide gently to the back of his neck as she brought her lips against his in a sweet little kiss. When she'd pulled away, she'd whispered, "Thank you." He couldn't do anything but sit still as she'd wrapped both of her hands around the arm that was nearest to her and leaned her head on his shoulder. He'd murmured back a "you're welcome" and accidentally ignored the first several minutes of the start of the performance as he'd inhaled her scent, enjoyed her body heat and lightly touched the locks of silky hair that fell across the front of his arm and chest.

She hadn't moved much during the performance, except to lift her head at particularly dramatic moments. Watching her enjoy the show was like watching a show in and of itself – a private show, just for him. Her eyes would widen at times, and be heavy-lidded at others; her full lips would part, the corners occasionally pulling into involuntary smiles. She would bite at her bottom lip, then purse them, then sigh contentedly before starting all over again. Though the theater was dark, he could see the lights from the stage reflected in her large eyes, sparkling with appreciation and happiness. Her head would sway slightly from side to side in time with the music and sometimes she would close her eyes. In those moments, he knew she was onstage herself, dancing the part of the lovelorn Giselle, leaping and turning across the stage on her toes in a beautiful sparkling costume.

Watching her in a state of happiness and contentment he'd never seen before made his heart tug in a funny little way. Although he'd been struck earlier in the evening by how lovely he thought she looked, it was nothing as compared to how she looked now. In this moment, she had never been so beautiful to him and it had nothing to do with her appearance.

When the ballet ended, Sammi rose to her feet along with everyone else in the theater to give the cast a standing ovation. Tommy stood up with her and watched as the dancers each had a moment to be recognized. The decibel level in the room rose shatteringly when the dancers that danced the roles of Giselle and her lover, Albrect each stepped forward to bow gracefully and graciously to the audience. Sammi seemed to clap even harder, and even Tommy had to admit, with his low-level knowledge of dance, that they had been spectacular.

When they had finally made their way through the seething crowd in the lobby and back out into the dark, chilly night, they strolled along casually, their arms brushing against each other's as they walked. Finally Tommy looked over at Sammi.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked softly. In reply, Sammi smiled at her shoes before meeting his gaze.

"I can't even begin to describe how much I enjoyed myself," she answered sincerely. She stopped walking and so did Tommy. He looked at her curiously. She stepped toward him and slipped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. Automatically, his arms wrapped around her and he stroked her back idly. After a moment she pulled away slightly and looked up at him.

"That was probably the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me," she said softly. "You bought those tickets a couple weeks ago, the same day they went on sale. _Before _we talked because by the time we did, they were sold out. How did you know?"

"I wish I could take all the credit," he admitted. "But your girl Bunz sort of hinted that it was your favorite ballet and that you were pretty sad when you didn't think you'd be able to go."

"Ah, Bunz," Sammi said, chuckling. "Still, you didn't have to do anything about it but you did it anyway, just to make me happy." Her arms squeezed him slightly.

"Hope I was successful," Tommy said, stroking the ends of her hair. "In keeping with the theme of the evening, and all."

"Very successful," Sammi answered. She pressed herself up on her toes a little bit, not having to reach as far as she usually did because she was in heels, and brushed her lips to his cheek and chin. When he tilted his face down a little, she gave him another sweet kiss on his lips. He felt immensely pleased with himself that his little scheme had gone to plan, and that he'd been able to make her so happy. He realized that was a job that he could definitely get used to.

"Well," he said lightly, rubbing her arms. "It's after ten-thirty on a school night. I'd better get you home."

She nodded and they continued down the street toward the parking garage. She hugged his arm and leaned against him. He was pleased at how comfortable she seemed around him now, and how affectionate she was being. He especially appreciated it knowing her history, and that affection from her came with a certain level of trust in him.

When they reached his car, he reached for the handle and opened the door for her. She smiled at him before climbing in, pausing with one hand on the roof and one hand on the edge of the door. "You know," she said, "you don't always have to open my car door for me. Or any door, for that matter."

"Ma says I do," he replied simply, giving her a half-smile and shutting the door after her once she was seated inside.

They were quiet on the drive back to her apartment, but kept their fingers loosely intertwined on his knee. When he pulled up to her building, she glanced at him from under her lashes.

"You can come in for a while, if you want," she said softly. A little surge went through him at the words, but he nodded calmly.

"I'd like to," he said. He followed her into the building and up to her floor. He tried at first not stare at her legs moving up the stairs in front of him, then gave up and allowed his eyes to slide down them, appreciating their shape and the way the muscles would tense and flex as she bent and straightened them. She unlocked her door and Rocky came running from her bedroom, the tip of his tail curled over in greeting. As she bent to pet her cat, Tommy shut the door and locked her locks for her.

"Care for some mindless television?" she asked jokingly. She turned her back toward him to open her hall closet and he watched as she slipped off her jacket to hang it back up. He realized the back of her dress was cut out, her smooth, lightly defined back on display, and wondered how he'd failed to notice that all evening. He sat down on her couch and stretched his legs out in front of him, watching as she kicked off her heels next and padded across the carpet to join him on the couch.

She dropped onto the couch next to him and curled up into his side. He put his arm around her and let his hand drop lightly to her bare back, gauging her reaction. She allowed his hand to remain where it was, so he started to lightly stroke the exposed skin, losing himself in the sensation of how smooth and satiny it felt against his rough fingertips. She had turned to an old movie, from the eighties from what he could tell. He'd never seen it or heard of it before, but it starred a young Michael Douglas and Melanie Griffith and was set during World War Two. He might have found it interesting on a different day, but for right now, all he cared about was how her skin felt. She seemed to be enjoying his caresses as well, her eyes closing in relaxation as he traced the indentation of her spine, the outline of her shoulder blades, swirling lazy circles over the expanse of bare, smooth skin with his fingertips. In fact, she seemed to fall asleep under his touches, and he was okay with that. If her back was this smooth and soft, he could only imagine what the rest of her felt like.

_Shit_, he thought as his body immediately responded to that involuntary thought. He shifted slightly, and the movement caused Sammi's eyes to open. She wasn't exactly in his lap, so he was pretty sure she couldn't feel anything, but then again, she wasn't far away from him, either, and now her eyes were open. He shifted again and she glanced up at him.

"Would you –" she whispered, then trailed off and bit her lip. His fingers continued to stroke at her skin as he looked at her with his brows raised.

She tried again. "Could you stretch out and lay next to me?" She whispered the words, and he knew that it required a bit of an effort on her part to get them out. He nodded and she crawled to the other side of him so he could swing his legs up onto the couch. It was wide enough to accommodate them both if they wanted to lay shoulder to shoulder, but Sammi laid with her back against his chest, her head pillowed on his bicep. She pulled his arm over her, his hand landing lightly on her tummy and looked up at him.

He never saw her hand move until he felt it on the back of his neck, her fingers stroking the sensitive skin there lightly, and suddenly he felt her fingertips press against his skin lightly. He got the message immediately and slowly lowered his face to hers.

:O:O:O:

Sammi's heart was already thudding, but when Tommy's lips landed on hers lightly, it kicked into overdrive. With one extremely thoughtful gesture on his part that had brought them together that evening, he'd made her feel like a completely different person over the course of the night. She'd been openly affectionate with him, felt bold enough to invite him upstairs and now…and now, this.

When his fingers had first begun stroking her back, it had felt relaxing. After a while, she'd felt warmth starting to flood through her, little pinpricks of heat that started deep in her belly and blossomed outward. She'd realized with a start that Tommy was turning her on.

And when she'd realized that _he _was getting turned on, it made those pinpricks of heat shoot downward and pool between her legs, making her flesh twitch and crawl there.

Now that she was lying with her back pressed against his front, she could _feel_ his arousal at simply touching her bare skin and it frightened her, intimidated her…and turned her on all the more. She'd wanted to run. Instead, she'd coaxed his head down, inviting him to take her lips. Which he did, and was doing.

He was moving his lips along hers in that extremely slow, sensuous way she could never seem to stop thinking about, especially when she looked at his mouth, and for a moment couldn't even kiss him back, just enjoying the feeling of his warm, soft lips against hers and drawing in deep breaths to take in his deliciously spicy, clean scent she couldn't get enough of. When she felt the tip of his tongue slide along the seam of her lips, her eyes flew open as new desire flooded through her. She began to return his kisses, her body overruling her mind and making her kiss him back hastily, but he gently cupped the side of her face as though he were silently asking her to slow down, and leisurely, he feasted on her mouth with his own.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt such _want_ pound through her veins like this, blood surging to sensitive areas that had long-since been disregarded as pleasurable body parts, but they were now coming to life in a slowly delicious way. She was nervous, she was slightly anxious, but she also felt like she was on fire. Tommy Conlon had managed to do the impossible – arouse her.

His hand trailed down her cheek to her neck, over her collarbones and down her sternum and merely the thought of what it would feel like for him to touch her breasts sent another surge of desire through her. She felt like she was positively aching from the excitement throbbing between her thighs. His hand rested lightly on her stomach, but began to smooth over it slowly and sensuously as his lips and tongue continued to take hers. Her head was swimming and between what his mouth was doing to her and the innocent places his hand touched she felt like she could explode.

She sucked in a noisy breath when his lips slowly moved from her mouth to her chin, down the side of her jaw to its hinge, and came to rest against the pulse in her neck. She knew he could feel how fast and hard it was pumping, and swore she could feel his lips curl into a smile against her skin. He moved his lips to the middle of her throat, and moved them down in a line of firm, slow, and slightly moist kisses until he reached the hollow spot at the base of her throat. She couldn't keep in a tiny sigh of pleasure when she felt his tongue swirl slowly there. His lips continued down languidly, grazing the sensitive skin over her collar bones before moving down her upper chest. He stopped at the edge of the slightly low neckline of her dress and followed it to each side, moving over the tops of her breasts. He returned to the middle and moved his lips to her sternum, and even through the fabric she could feel his mouth burning there and suddenly she felt his hand move lower, touching her thigh. She froze, feeling an even stronger wave of the confusing mixture of panic, fear and desire.

"Tommy," she whispered, and in reply he gently stroked the skin of her thigh, running his fingers from the middle of her quadriceps down almost to her knee and back up. He swept his fingers from her outer thigh inward and he gently pressed his fingers there, pulling her top leg back toward him slightly. It both opened her up slightly, and allowed her to feel more of his arousal. She gulped. She couldn't tell much through the fabric of his pants, but if she wasn't mistaken, he felt large. Intimidatingly large. She wasn't at all sure she was ready for it. Or rather, her body was ready; her mind was on the fence.

She jumped when his fingers slid up her inner thigh and panic sent alarm bells going off in her head. "Tommy," she whispered again, grasping for his hand.

He squeezed her fingers gently before capturing her lips in his. The panic melted from her mind at the feeling of his lips and tongue.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispered against her lips. "I just want to touch you. That's all."

She lay very still, her breath hitched in her chest as her heart kicked into an impossibly high gear, and after a moment, he returned his fingers to her inner thigh and stroked the flesh there lightly. She shut her eyes as the heat between her legs turned into tingling hotness and the throbbing, aching sensation she'd felt earlier returned with a vengeance. She bit back a gasp when his fingertips brushed over her core through her panties leisurely, and a surge of pleasure she felt at the sensation made her eyes fly open. He took her lips in his again and continued to stroke her through her panties, light feathery strokes that made her jolt every time she felt them. His fingertips brushed the top edge of her panties, wedging under them slightly next to the flesh there.

"Is this okay with you?" he asked into her neck, his lips and voice making her shudder with want. She hesitated for a moment, her mind whirling and she was tempted to pull away and say no, it wasn't okay with her. Instead, her body quickly won that battle and after a moment, she nodded enough for him to feel it, and his fingers moved slowly under the edge of her panties again, further in, until the tip of his finger brushed her. She could feel her own wetness glide with his finger and couldn't suppress the gasp that burst out of her throat. He dipped the tip of his finger inside her ever so slightly, then stroked his finger upward to her hot little center, her wetness gliding him along. He slowly circled the hard tiny pearl at the top of her core lightly, over and over, until she felt the slow, tight heat in her pelvis begin to coil even tighter and tighter, and a very strange sensation she hadn't felt in so long came over her. She tried to tell him that something strange was happening to her, tried to tell him how _good_ it felt, when that coil wound just a little too tight, and with a final swipe of his finger, it broke. The tingling hot, hot heat burst deep and low inside her, and she came in a shuddering, gasping rush, her eyes flying wide open but seeing nothing, as waves of pleasure slammed into her and she shook and convulsed in his arms, gasping an abbreviated version of his name as her mouth fell open.

After a moment of lightly touching her to bring her through her aftershocks, he slowly withdrew his hand, pulling her panties back into place and pulling the skirt of her dress back down, and returned his fingers to the skin of her thigh as his lips moved against her neck. His hand ran languidly up her abdomen, stopping at her sternum to press lightly there as his lips moved to the pulse in her neck. It was still beating fast and hard, but starting to slow as a deep, satisfied sleepiness settled over her. She could still feel his hardness pressing into the back of her thigh; if it was possible, it felt even harder than before. She wondered shyly if she should return the favor, wanting him to experience even a taste of the pleasure she'd just had. She met his eyes, and swallowed, biting down into her lip. His smoky eyes moved over her face and a little smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, almost as though he knew what she was thinking. He tilted his head and pressed his mouth to hers firmly and sensuously, doing nothing to help slow the beating of her heart or extinguish the slow burn of desire between her legs.

He gave the tip of her tongue a little flick with his before chastely pressing his lips to her temple and wrapping his arms around her tightly, pulling her into his chest.

"Go to sleep," he murmured into her hair.

She wanted to protest, wanted to move her hands against him, wanted to taste his lips some more, but the shock of pleasure her body had just endured was melding into a warm, soft heat, a sleepy, friendly heat, pulling her down to relax in his arms and she was asleep before any other part of her could move.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: For anyone curious, I envision Lorraine Bracco as Sammi's mother and James Caan for her father. :-) Enjoy!**

**Chapter 21**

The little bundle of warmth that had spent all night pressed into Tommy's chest was suddenly gone and he immediately opened his eyes in the darkness, reaching out automatically, seeking for it, when he felt a small hand grab his.

"Hey," a sweet voice whispered in the darkness. "Just stay there and sleep a little. I have to get ready to go into the café."

Years of military training had taught him to wake up instantly, so he was already fully awake. "It's like, four-thirty," he replied, his voice deep and gruff with sleep. "Come back here."

Her small form sat back down next to him and in the next moment he felt a pair of soft, pillowy lips press into his cheek and then his neck.

"I left early yesterday and I need to get there early this morning to make it up to Bunz," she whispered back. "I feel like I've been sneaking out early all the time lately. Otherwise I would still be laying with you, I promise." She trailed a finger down his cheek and along his jaw. "Just lay here for a little bit while I go get ready. It's too early for anyone sane to be up."

Tommy lay quietly as she got up from the couch and disappeared into her bedroom. After a moment, he faintly heard the shower in her bathroom turn on. A small, lithe shadow leapt onto the couch beside him, a low purring noise accompanying it.

"Hey, man," Tommy murmured to the cat, holding out his hand as Rocky luxuriously leaned his head into his palm. After a few moments of being scratched between the ears, Rocky jumped down and sauntered into the kitchen. A moment later Tommy heard him lapping up water from his bowl.

Tommy leaned back against the sofa cushion and shut his eyes but he knew he wouldn't go back to sleep. He thought about Sammi in the shower and felt simultaneous arousal and also an ache deep in his groin from being unable to release himself the evening prior. Even so, he still felt satisfied that he'd brought Sammi pleasure after what had undoubtedly been an agonizingly long time; he'd never intended for her to reciprocate and had she really tried, he wouldn't have allowed her to do so anyway. He knew he had to ease her back into intimacy and that in doing so he'd be doing most of the work, but as he thought about what that work might entail, he couldn't help a half-smile from tugging up one side of his mouth. He'd never known how pleasurable for him it could be to bring someone _else_ pleasure, and he fully accepted and was just fine with the fact that as he got Sammi comfortable with being physical, he'd be going "without" as it were. But as he recalled the amazing feeling of the wetness her body produced signifying her arousal for him, the way her body had tensed right before she'd exploded, the tremors that overtook her, the way her lips had parted and how she'd gasped out something that sounded like his name – all of that had been so satisfying for him and he sincerely could not recall another time in his life when he'd been so aroused.

Of course, he'd _love _to "take the plunge" with her as soon as possible; he was a man with needs, too, but something told him that taking it as slow as possible with Sammi would reap delicious rewards for them later on. Moreover, he respected and liked her far too much to be so insensitive to her needs and boundaries. Sammi was beginning to trust him, he could sense it, and he'd be damned if he did _anything_ to destroy that trust, ever.

She emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, her dark hair swept up into a bun at the crown of her head and was dressed in tight jeans, motorcycle boots and a soft-looking, slightly oversized black sweater that hung off one shoulder. She smiled shyly and looked down at her feet, lifting a hand to scratch her head. He knew she was feeling timid after their "encounter" the previous night, but he wanted her to feel great about it and not awkward. He got up off the couch and stretched a little, the small bones of his back popping satisfyingly, before making his way over to her. He trailed a hand over her bare shoulder before lowering his face to her neck, breathing in her freshly clean scent before he pressed his lips to her flesh. He was pleased when she shivered a little.

"All right if I use your bathroom?" he asked.

She smirked up at him. "No. You have to pee off the balcony."

He shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I've done worse. I mean, they're _your_ neighbors."

She laughed and shoved him in the direction of her bedroom. When he entered it, it was still warm and humid from her shower, the mirror still slightly fogged. He smirked as he glanced around. She was tidy to a fault, he could already tell, and her bathroom was filled with all sorts of girly things – makeup, a shamefully large collection of perfumes, various bottles of fruity and floral scented lotions, hair products. He noticed that she'd set out a still-packaged toothbrush and a small, travel-size tube of toothpaste on the counter. He smiled at her thoughtfulness and quickly splashed water on his face and opened the package and brushed his teeth thoroughly. He glanced at his watch as he did so, noting that it was just after five. He'd need to leave soon and get home to change and get to the gym. He was leaving for Ithaca in a week and needed to make these last workouts and sessions really count.

_Speaking of Ithaca_… He wondered what she would ultimately decide. He'd like to think that she would agree to come with him, because she liked him just that much, but if she declined he wouldn't be upset with her, nor would he not be understanding. He'd be disappointed…but he'd get it. After all, the Ithaca tournament was immediately before the trial. She would be traveling with people she barely knew – including him. Although her anxiety issues seemed to be a lot better than when he'd first met her, he didn't know how she'd fare in such a testosterone-riddled, violent atmosphere as befit an MMA tournament. He inwardly face-palmed himself; what had he been thinking, inviting her along?

He rinsed his mouth and slipped the toothbrush back in the box. He wasn't sure what to do with it, so he left it on the counter. He exited her bathroom and then her bedroom and headed down the short hallway that opened up to the living room and kitchen area. Sammi was leaning over the back of one of her chairs in her small kitchenette with a grocery store weekly ad open on the table in front of her. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her backside and thighs showcased in her tight jeans before walking up behind her and resting his hand on her back gently. She looked up at him and smiled, then straightened so she could give him a proper hug.

"You know," he began. "I was thinking about how I invited you to come to Ithaca."

"Mm-hmm," she murmured back, her cheek against his chest.

"I was thinking maybe that wasn't too good of an idea."

She lifted her head and cocked it curiously. "Why do you say that?"

He shrugged. "Just got to thinking maybe it wasn't the best environment to bring you to – loud. Violent. Dudes walking around like they got somethin' to prove to everyone."

"And those are some of the things I'm thinking about," she replied lightly. "Deciding whether or not I can handle that. But you just can't _disinvite_ me." She frowned at him. He couldn't help laughing.

"All right. Well…you keep thinkin' about it then. I wouldn't be upset either way."

"You wouldn't?" she murmured, pressing up onto her toes. "You wouldn't be upset if I _didn't_ come?" She brushed her lips lightly against his, and his body stirred at the slight touch. He swiped his lips slowly over hers, enjoying the way her hands suddenly tightened around him as she tried to press her body against his. His body continued to respond to her touch so he carefully gripped her waist in his hands and held her away from him slightly.

"Thought you said you needed to get to work," he said. She made a little noise of frustration and dropped her arms.

"I do," she sighed. She moved to her kitchen counter and handed him a steaming mug of coffee. He accepted it hesitantly.

"You didn't have to make this for me," he said. "I won't be able to drink it all before you leave."

"Take the mug with you," she said. She smiled at him playfully. "I know where you work. Not where you live – but where you work. I'll find you."

It occurred to Tommy that Sammi _had _never been to his place before. "I guess I can't hide from you, then," he said lightly. "I'll drive you to work."

"Tommy, it's like three blocks away," Sammi protested. He shook his head.

"It's also like, five in the morning," he mimicked. "It's dark outside. Come on."

He carried his mug carefully down the stairs as she fed Rocky and locked up behind her. Her boots thumped hollowly down the stairs as they walked out to his car. As he usually did, he reached for the handle of her door absently and pulled it open for her. She rolled her eyes playfully at him, but smiled appreciatively too.

"So what are you gonna do in there so early?" he asked once they were settled in his car. "You don't open for a couple hours."

"Oh, I'll get the front end going, the machines assembled, then get the bakery case loaded, stuff like that," Sammi said, stretching in her seat. "And what about you?"

Tommy sipped at his coffee. "Run to the gym. Open the gym. Do some paperwork, study film. Train. Spar. The usual."

"One more week," she said lightly.

"One more week," he echoed.

When they arrived at the café, he insisted on walking her to the front door and waited while she unlocked the gate, pulled it aside, and unlocked the door. She wedged her foot between the heavy glass door and the frame and looked up at him. He got the feeling she was suddenly shy again. He met her gaze and reached out to push a stray lock of hair that had fallen free of her bun behind her ear.

"Take care of my mug," she said finally.

"I'll protect it with my life," he joked. "Have a good day today."

"Oh, I will," she murmured, the words come out far more suggestively than she'd probably intended as her cheeks suddenly turned crimson. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind and he knew it was on hers too. He smiled and leaned down to give her a kiss in that slow, lingering way she seemed to like. When he pulled away her eyes were bright and she was smiling widely. He remained on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, as he waited for her to step inside, pull the gate back across the entrance and then shut and lock the door again. He smiled at her once she was secure and she waved. They both turned away, Tommy heading for the car, when he heard a rapid tattoo of knuckles on glass and turned around. He grinned when she blew him a kiss, dimpling, before spinning on the ball of her foot and disappearing into the back of the café.

He turned toward his car, feeling a little ache in his gut; it reminded him of the feeling he got whenever he thought of his mother or Manny. This feeling was slightly different, though; it was bittersweet instead of just bitter because Sammi was _here_, she was _alive_, she was fine. Yet, as he got into his car and drove off, he missed her already, just the same.

:O:O:O:

"So," Bunz chirped a couple hours later. "How was _your _night? Dinner and a movie, right?"

Sammi tried to give her a withering stare but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Oh, you know how the night was, you sly minx," she said as she opened a fresh bag of espresso beans.

Bunz laughed. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you just called me a 'sly minx'," she said. "What makes you think I know how it was?"

"C'mon," Sammi said. "Tommy told me you put a bug in his ear."

Bunz opened her mouth as though she wanted to protest, then thought better of it and shrugged. "Well, yeah. I mean, give credit where credit is due. I did do that. But," she lifted a finger in the air dramatically, "he _didn't_ have to listen to me and he did it anyway. So you had a good time?"

"It was amazing," Sammi said, with a dreamy smile. "The ballet was great, too."

Bunz laughed. "Wow, the day when your favorite ballet takes a backseat to the rest of the date is a day worth remembering. So what was so great about it?"

"He's just…amazing," Sammi repeated, filling the top of the espresso grinder with fresh, whole beans. "Such a gentleman. Cleans up _very _well. Thoughtful."

"Delicious," Bunz added, then shrugged when Sammi looked at her sharply. "What? He is. Did you get some?"

"B!" Sammi squealed. "I'm not that kind of girl." She thought again of their night on the couch and reddened. It did not go unnoticed by Bunz. She gasped and pointed.

"Oh, my God!" she said in a hushed tone. "You did! Your chest is all – splotchy now."

Sammi's neck and chest did tend to redden along with her face when she was embarrassed, and it intensified now that Bunz had pointed it out.

"We didn't – do _that_," she said, patting the air. "Calm down."

"What did you do?" Bunz demanded, leaning on the counter.

Sammi pursed her lips. "Just – some things," she hedged. "Let's just say that he gave me a little _release_ last night. In a very…_respectful_ way."

"You are such a prude," Bunz complained. "I tell _you_ about me and Anthony."

"And trust me, I want you to feel that you don't have to do that anymore," Sammi replied, holding up a hand.

Bunz scoffed in annoyance and shook her head, then smiled. "Well, I'm really happy to hear you had a good time and that afterward you had….a good time." She laughed. "You deserve it."

"Thanks," Sammi said. "I, uh, asked him if he would come to the trial. To be there for me."

"Oh, yeah?" Bunz lifted her eyebrows. "What did he say?"

"He said yes. Then he asked me if I would go to the tournament with him."

"And what did _you_ say?"

"I asked for some time to think about it," Sammi replied. "I felt like a hypocrite, but, there's a lot I have to take into consideration."

"Like what?" Bunz asked. "You asked him to support you, he asked for the same thing in return. What's to think about?"

"Well," Sammi began. "The trips are a little different. The trial, I'll be with you guys. My family. I'll be safe. By me going with him and _his_ family…I don't know them. I don't know _him_ nearly as well as I know all of you, obviously. What if he turns out to _not_ be the person I think he is? I'm by myself, I'm stranded. That's a bad situation."

"I get that," Bunz said. "I do. But ask yourself this – do you honestly feel like he's _not_ who he says he is?"

"I _want _him to be who he says he is," Sammi replied. "But – who the hell really knows?"

"Okay. Then ask yourself _this. _What made you invite him over to your apartment for dinner a couple weeks ago?"

Sammi blinked, then thought about it. She shrugged. "I wanted to take a chance and put myself out there a little, I guess," she said.

"Right, but a part of you _trusted_ him on some level," Bunz said. "You could have invited him _out _to dinner but you asked him to come over to your place. So while that was definitely a leap of faith on your part, you also felt some sort of comfortable way around him and trusted that he wouldn't hurt you. If he really meant you harm, he could have done whatever it was to you that night. You were alone with him in your own home with no one around to save you. But he didn't. And now, you know him even better than you did _then._"

"Unless it's all part of his scheme to win my trust before he goes in for the kill," Sammi said wryly, surprising herself with the joke.

"Right," Bunz said sarcastically. "Basically what I'm saying is – get out of your own head. I think you should go."

"That's sort of what I was leaning toward," Sammi admitted. She held up a finger. "But if he chops my head off I'm personally going to hold _you_ accountable."

"I'll take the blame," Bunz teased back. She made a face. "You know you're gonna have to tell your parents, right? And by 'tell your parents', I mean ask them for permission."

Sammi rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm twenty-seven. I don't have to ask anyone for permission." She scrubbed at the countertop and pictured her father's face in her mind and shuddered. He would _not _be thrilled that she was going anywhere with a guy he'd only met once, even under the best of circumstances. But with her history, he would like it even less. She knew that ultimately she would do whatever she wanted, but even at almost thirty, her father could make her feel as timid as child at times. She dropped her rag.

"I'm gonna have to ask 'em," she said.

"Yeah, you are."

The opportunity presented itself sooner than Sammi had expected; her parents came in just in time for the early morning rush. Her father worked the cash register while Sammi made the drinks, and her mother went into the kitchen to help Bunz labor over several large loaves of braided Italian herb bread. Two solid hours flew by before things settled down.

Her father took the opportunity of the lull to count the drawer and reset it to make an early afternoon deposit. Sammi used the lull to clean the espresso machine, refill the grinder with whole beans and wash the metal milk pitcher used for steaming and the long metal spoons used for mixing the espresso with the milk and spooning on foam.

"So, how's my princess?" her father asked absently, punching numbers into a calculator and jotting down figures on a yellow notepad.

"Good, Pop," Sammi replied. "Just spending lots of time workin' on my showcase piece for next month."

"I'm sure it's gonna be beautiful," Mr. Carnevale replied, counting a stack of bills again. "What else you been doin'?"

Sammi cleared her throat. "I've been spending a lot of time with Tommy," she said tentatively.

Her father glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned back to his task. "Oh, yeah? How's he doin'?"

"He's good," Sammi said. "He took me – well, he _surprised_ me – by taking me to go see _Giselle_ last night."

"Your favorite," Mr. Carnevale commented. "That was nice of him."

"Yes, it was," Sammi said. "And he took me to Elements before that."

"Hmm," her father said, jotting more figures. "In my day that's the sort of thing you did when you wanted something more than a kiss from a girl. You better not be kissin' him either," he added sternly, pointing the eraser end of his pencil at her.

"Pop!" she said, exasperatedly. "I am a grown woman, you know."

"What's that mean to me?" her father demanded.

"Nothing, Pop," Sammi said, shaking her head. "What he did was a nice gesture. A nice surprise for me."

"Yeah, it was," her father mumbled under his breath.

Sammi cleared her throat again. "I asked Tommy if he would come to the trial."

Her father was quiet for a long time, then sighed. "Your mother told me you told him what happened," he said. "And that he was a nice guy about it."

"Of course he was," Sammi said quietly. "Because he's a _nice guy_. I really like him, Pop."

"I know, honey," her father replied, and set his pencil down, turning to face her and folding his arms over his chest. "I know you do. But he's the first guy you've been involved with in a long time, and what happened to you only happened a year ago. I just want to make sure you're bein' careful with yourself where men are concerned. I don't want any guys lookin' at you, knowin' what you've been through, and takin' advantage of that because they see you as some vulnerable, easy little target."

Sammi winced a little, but she knew her father only meant well. "I know, Daddy," she said softly. "But Tommy's not like that. If I haven't learned anything else over the past year, I _have_ learned to trust my instincts. And yeah, I'm a little scared. But my instincts tell me he's a great guy. And I think you know that, too."

Mr. Carnevale harrumphed and looked away. "Yeah. I think he's a good guy. But he could be the best guy in the world and he still wouldn't be good enough for my princess."

Sammi smiled. "Well, you're my dad," she said. "That's what you're supposed to think."

Mr. Carnevale sighed again and lifted his hands in the air in surrender. "Okay, okay. You want him at the trial, he comes to the trial."

That was the easy part. Sammi bit her lip. "You know that tournament he's training for, Ithaca? He told you about it on Sunday?"

"Yes, Samuel," her father said in his absent tone again, going back to his figures.

"It's in Buffalo."

"Mm-hmm."

"He asked me to go with him. And his family."

Mr. Carnevale snapped his head up. "And you told him no." It was not a question.

Sammi fidgeted, feeling suddenly like she was fourteen again. "I told him I would think about it," she replied. "And I _am_ thinking about it."

"What's there to think about?" her father demanded. He leaned past Sammi toward the kitchen. "Carmela!" he called.

"Aw, come on, Pop," Sammi said, sighing. "You don't have to bring Ma –"

"What is it, Joe?" Mrs. Carnevale said, coming out of the kitchen. She looked between Sammi and her father. "What's going on?"

"Sammi's new boyfriend has asked her to travel to Buffalo with him," Mr. Carnevale said, folding his arms. "To that fight of his."

"Okay, first of all, he's not my boyfriend," Sammi said, lifting a hand.

"Yet," Bunz's voice floated in from the kitchen. Sammi ignored her.

"Second, he has a name – _Tommy_, who you both met and told me you liked, especially _you,_ Ma," Sammi pointed at her mother. "Third, I asked him to come to the trial for moral support, and he asked me to come to the tournament for moral support for _him_. That's all."

"But, Sam, out of town?" Mrs. Carnevale said, frowning with worry. "You would feel comfortable with that?"

"Yes," Sammi said firmly, although she still wasn't totally sure. "He would never let anything happen to me. I'll be fine."

"What about the trial?" her father asked. "Will you even make it back in time?"

"Yes, of course," Sammi replied. "It's only seven hours from Buffalo to the city and we'll have all day on Sunday to get there."

Mrs. Carnevale looked at her husband. "We can't tell her what to do," she reminded him gently. "She is an adult."

"Thanks, Ma," Sammi said.

"You shut up," her father said, pointing at her. "I don't like it. I want to talk to this Tommy myself."

"Pop, come on," Sammi said. "I'm not a teenager."

Her father stepped toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. "No," he said. "You're _not _a teenager. But I don't care how old you are. You're _my_ daughter, and I wouldn't be all right with this even if you _hadn't_ been attacked and almost killed last year. But since you _were,_ I'm _really _not all right with this, and I want to talk to this boyfriend o' yours to make sure he doesn't get any funny ideas."

"Dad," Sammi said exasperatedly.

"That's my condition," he said firmly. "I talk to your boyfriend."

Sammi's face darkened. "He's _not_ –"

Her father waved his hands. "All right, all right. He's not your boyfriend. I don't care. I still talk to him. Or no trip."

"Joe, we should go," her mother interjected. "We need to get to the bank and then I want you to take me to lunch. Sammi – we'll bring you and Bunz back something to eat. And we'll see you on Sunday and maybe later and tomorrow too."

Sammi sighed. "Ma, I won't be there on Sunday. Remember? I told you I'm goin' to his family's house for dinner."

Her mother stared at her. "You're not comin' on Sunday?" she demanded.

"Ma, I told you this already."

"I thought you meant Saturday, _tomorrow_!" she said. "_Not _Sunday. You can't miss Sunday!"

"I said Sunday, Ma," Sammi said. "And what's the big deal? Sometimes Nik and Toni miss Sundays when they go to Vince's or Ryan's families."

"They're _married_," Mrs. Carnevale insisted. "That's totally different. You're a single girl, you belong with your mother at her house on Sunday!" She waved her hand, her other clutching at her heart. "Fine, fine. You go with them on Sunday. Forget about your mother. I'll be fine."

"Let's go, sweetie," Mr. Carnevale said, taking his wife by the arm and fixing Sammi with a piercing stare. "You remember what I said," he said, his tone vaguely threatening. They left the café and as Bunz came out from the kitchen, Sammi dramatically collapsed over the top of the counter.

Bunz was chewing a piece of the freshly baked Italian loaf she'd just made. "Well," she began, chomping on the crusty bread with her eyes wide. "I'd say that went about as well as you could hope for." She offered a piece to Sammi, who grabbed it. It was perfect – hard and crusty on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside.

"Yeah," Sammi mumbled through a mouthful of bread. "I'm exhausted."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: TYPO CITY! My apologies and will be cleaned up later. Oh, and lemony fluff as well. Enjoy and review!**

**Update: Edited, clear and ready for takeoff. :-)**

**Chapter 22**

As the day wore on, Sammi found herself unable to think of anything but the previous night. It had been so _perfect_, the way every date ought to be, and it was the sort of thing that she'd never really believed existed in the real world for people like her. But, it had happened.

And, as it had been doing most of the day during lulls, her mind turned to _the couch_. She could still feel his fingers moving against her, teasing her, touching her so perfectly and exactly how she never knew she liked to be touched, until her peak had burst out of her stronger than she could ever remember experiencing. She couldn't even really recall with any accuracy the last time she'd had an orgasm; it had been long before even the attack, although the attack had solidified the obsolescence of that part of her body. She never thought that she'd ever feel arousal or desire again; in fact, she assumed she would never have sex again for the rest of her life, never _want _it again. She'd healed physically, although that had taken months; she'd had to undergo a series of several surgeries, and the damage done from her attacker's body and his "toys", including her own kitchen knife, had caused the need for an impromptu hysterectomy at the ripe age of twenty-six. Mentally, she'd assumed not only would she never be intimate with anyone again but she would also never be _with_ anyone ever again, and up until meeting Tommy, she'd done just fine.

And then, he'd completely discombobulated her.

She thought about the idea of having sex with him. The thought, on a surface level, made her want to run screaming for the hills; not because of _him_ – the overall idea of allowing _anything_ to penetrate her again terrified her. But as she forced herself to envision it, using the context from last night, she wondered if it couldn't be as wonderful as people made it out to be. Her body instantly grew warm as she imagined his skin sliding against hers, his fingers working the magic she'd come to realize they were capable of, his lips moving against hers in the way she loved. She felt her skin flushing and tightening at the thought. Then, she imagined him gently parting her legs and settling in between them, and that large, hard bulge she'd felt through his pants last night moving against her core. Her stomach felt tight and tingly and her breath started to hitch a little faster. Then she imagined him moving into her, invading her most sensitive and most abused area with himself, and panic settled over her like a wave and her eyes flew open as her heart began to beat erratically and fear made her vision swim.

She took a deep breath and blew it out hard through her mouth, automatically going to the relaxation techniques she'd been working on lately instead of her medication. She put her hands on her hips and frowned at the floor. Her body had been responding favorably until her mind got in the way, and it was disheartening. She knew on a physical level, she _wanted _to be with Tommy that way; she didn't know how to make her mind fall in line with that.

At least, he hadn't done anything more than touch her, as he promised her that was all he'd wanted to do, and he had made it clear he wasn't looking for any sort of reciprocity either. As she began refilling the flavored syrups behind her on the counter, she wondered when the next time he would touch her like that would be, and at the thought, she began to feel a little throb deep inside her and her flesh suddenly tingled. She bit her lip, losing herself in how she felt. Suddenly she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"_Are you taking care of my mug?"_

_"__Hello to you too. Yes. The mug is fine. I think. I'm not really sure, I left it alone at home."_

_"__WHAT?!"_

_"__Sorry. I had to come to work."_

_"__I'll be needing it back from you as soon as possible. Obviously you can't be trusted with nice things."_

_"__I think I saw about a thousand coffee mugs between your sink and your cupboard."_

_"__That's beside the point; I want THAT ONE."_

_"__You're welcome to come get it from me later."_

_"__I think I will do that. When I get off work."_

_"__I actually can't wait. If that's what it takes to get a visit from you…I think I'll keep your mug forever."_

_"__Highly unlikely. And don't eat dinner. Talk to you soon!"_

Sammi smiled to herself at their humorous exchange. She knew she couldn't wait two full days to see Tommy again. Hell, she couldn't even wait twelve hours to see Tommy again. She wanted to see him, and she wanted to be alone with him.

:O:O:O:

Tommy looked up from his desk when he heard knuckles rapping on the doorframe. He smiled when Sammi stepped into his office. He'd just finished sparring with Fen and then Leon half an hour before, and had used the locker room to take a shower and change into clean clothing in time for her visit. He knew she didn't really care about the mug, but even if she did, he was happy to see her regardless.

He rose from his chair to step around his desk and reached for her just as she set a large brown paper bag down. He perched on the edge of his desk and took her hand, pulling her to stand in between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face into the side of her neck, reaching up to stroke her back lightly.

She laughed a little breathlessly, unaccustomed to his forward display of affection. Prior to the previous night, they had tiptoed a little around being affectionate toward each other, but the intimacy they'd shared the night before seemed to break yet another barrier. At any rate, barring any real discomfort she might feel, he didn't really care if it _was_ too forward; he'd actually _missed_ her throughout the day and the sight of her and being able to hug her now made him feel immensely peaceful.

He kissed the side of her neck and released her, looking calmly into her face as she flushed a little and dimpled at him.

"Now _that's _how you treat a girl," she teased lightly and he smirked.

"I do what I can," he replied. He glanced at the sack as he suddenly felt hunger pangs begin to assault him. Before he'd sparred with Fenroy and Leon, he'd ran a few miles – he'd lost track after three – and then hit the weights, and the bags. He hadn't stopped to take a break and hadn't eaten since breakfast. He was starving. "What did you bring me?"

"A giant chicken and avocado wrap on a multigrain tortilla with lettuce and sprouts and some sort of low-calorie dressing," she replied.

"Now that's how you treat a man," he teased back.

She grinned. "I suppose it's the least I can do, after the supreme treatment I got last night." He knew she wasn't referring just to the dinner and the ballet by the way she averted her eyes shyly and blushed a little. She cleared her throat and reached for the sack. As she leaned past him he caught her chin in one hand and brought her face toward his to kiss her in her favorite way.

"I have a confession to make," she whispered as he pulled away slightly. Her eyes were still closed.

"Hm?" he asked absently, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip. "What's that?"

She flushed even deeper. "I've been thinking about kissing you all day." She was still whispering, and he knew that it was a stretch for her to say something like that, which made him believe her all the more and he felt flattered.

He leaned in again, cupping her jaw in his hand gently. "Is that right?" he murmured against her lips before kissing her deeply again. She grabbed at the front of his zip-up sweatshirt and enthusiastically returned his kiss, and after a while Tommy completely forgot about his meal, his office, the fact that they were at the gym. The only thing that mattered right now was that she was pressed against him and that he was finally tasting the lips he'd been thinking about all day, too.

They were interrupted when Fenroy came barging into the small office, the door flying open. Sammi tore her lips from him and jumped a foot in his arms. Tommy remained where he was, only lifting his eyes to glare at Fen.

"Oh, sorry, man!" Fenroy exclaimed with a grin, sounding anything but.

"The next time you come in here without knocking first, you get demoted to human punching bag," Tommy said. "What the hell do you want?"

Fenroy still had the little shit-eating grin on his face when he handed Tommy a flat cardboard envelope. "Here," he said. "This was just couriered over for you." He handed off the envelope and stepped back, fixing Sammi with a wider grin. "Nice Asian flush there, _Carnevale_," he commented.

"Fen, get the hell out of here," Tommy said. Fenroy snickered and backed out of the office, making a show of shutting the door gently. Tommy shook his head after him and glanced over at Sammi. She looked at him from under her lashes and dimpled.

"Forgot where we were for a minute," she teased.

He smirked. "Me, too." He looked down at the large envelope in his hand and tore off the perforated strip, tossing it onto his desk. He reached inside and withdrew a few sheets of paper, looking them over.

Sammi folded her arms and shifted her weight as she watched him quietly flip through the sheets of paper. He could practically feel impatience radiating off her and glanced up at her.

"You doin' all right over there?" he asked.

"What's that?" she asked.

He smiled at her nosiness. "None of your business," he teased. She narrowed her eyes playfully then shrugged.

"You're probably right," she replied. "I am horribly nosy."

"No, it's fine," he reassured her. He held up the sheets. "This is my notarized tournament contract, my fight itinerary and my schedule of events."

"Oh, so you're all set then," she commented.

"Sort of," he said. He folded his arms and glanced at her. "Just wondering if I'll have some company or not." His tone was teasing but his eyes slid over her in a way that made her tingly.

"About that," she said and he lifted his eyebrows at her. "Um. Well, I _do_ want to go with you. I just had to think things through a little. For me, sometimes I can't just make a decision like a 'normal' person would. I have to think about everything – I mean, _everything_."

"I get it," he replied mildly. "And for the record, I don't look at you as _abnormal_."

She smiled. "Thanks," she said. "Anyway, here's the thing. My father will chain me to a chair in their apartment to keep me in Pittsburgh if he doesn't speak with you first." She rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. I'm twenty-seven. But you don't understand. I'm the baby of the family. My dad is _Sicilian_. He is extremely overprotective. I don't think that will ever change, even if I get married or something. He –"

Tommy lifted a hand. "Sammi, it's cool," he replied. "I was always intending to speak to your father anyway."

She was surprised. "You were?"

Tommy lifted an eyebrow and nodded. "Yeah, of course. You think I'd take someone's daughter out of town without clearing it with them first? If I had a daughter, I would insist on the same thing. In fact, I probably wouldn't let her go anyway." He shrugged.

Sammi was floored. "Wow. Well, okay." She beamed at him. "I guess that's settled then."

He looked at steadily. "Sammi," he said in a tone that was almost stern. "Why do I get the feelin' that you're not bein' completely honest with me?"

"About what?" she asked, but she found herself unable to meet his eyes.

"About coming with me to Buffalo," he replied. "I don't know if you know this about me, but I'm really good at readin' people. And I can tell you're still not sure. Why don't you just talk to me about it and tell me what's on your mind?"

Sammi thought about protesting, about telling him that no, she was fine, the trip sounded great, but she knew he would know she was not being honest and didn't want to seem like a liar. So, she let out a heavy sigh.

"Okay," she began. "Don't get me wrong. I _do _want to come and support you. I really do. It's just that I haven't been back to New York since I left, and I haven't traveled anywhere without my family. So I guess I'm just sort of scared of the idea that I'll be doing something all alone...without them. Which I know sounds really infantile."

"No," Tommy replied quietly. "It doesn't. I mean, it might if you hadn't gone through what you've gone through. But I can completely see why you would be intimidated by that." He rose from the desk and stepped toward her. She was struck anew by how imposing he seemed; he was tall and heavy with muscle, brutality radiating from his every pore, and as he took her hand, she felt the familiar feeling of surprise that she always felt at his gentleness. She'd seen him in the ring countless times, had seen him in his violent element on TV and knew how scary he could be; yet he always went out of his way to be so gentle with her. That realization made another feeling of intrinsic trust for him surge through her.

"If you don't believe anything else I say, believe me when I tell you that you're safe with me," he said quietly. "I will _not_ allow anything bad to happen to you as long as I'm around. Okay?" He lifted her chin to scan her face with his eyes as though he needed to check and make sure his message had been received.

She smiled. "Roger that," she said softly, and he returned her smile.

"Now, will you let me eat in peace?" he joked. He reached for the bag but she closed her hand around the top of it and looked at him sternly.

"I want my mug," she insisted. "You take me to my mug, and you get to eat."

He sighed. "Your mug is at home. I told you this."

She let an impish smile dimple one of her cheeks. "Then I guess you'd better take me home," she said teasingly, surprising herself with her boldness. She glanced around at his neat-as-a-pin desk. "I think your work here is done, anyway. Don't you?"

He glanced around and laughed. "It's never done. But I don't have any evening appointments, if that's what you mean." He sighed. "You're starting to be bad for my work ethic," he said.

Sammi shrugged and let go of the sack. "Okay," she said calmly. "I'll get out of your hair then." She started to stride past him for the door, but he merely laughed at her and grabbed her arm as she passed. He pulled her against his body and gripped her waist.

"No, you won't," he murmured. "Not until I say so."

"You're not the boss of me," Sammi returned childishly, automatically lifting her face to his. She waited until he tilted his head to take her lips and then pulled back. "No more until I get my mug!"

"To hell with that mug," he muttered, smirking at her. She turned her face and he sighed, releasing her. "Fine. Let's go. Be careful with my food."

Sammi snatched the sack from his desk and followed him out of the office. He locked up and walked through the gym. It was surprisingly busy for a Friday evening, but there were lots of guys around the ring, and as usual, there were also lots of girls. Sammi couldn't help noticing the dirty looks she received again as she followed Tommy through the gym, and again, he didn't pay any attention to it.

"You out, boss?" Fen asked when they passed.

Tommy nodded. "Make sure you and Leon lock up tight tonight," he said. "This morning when I got here I saw that you missed a lock."

"My bad, won't happen again," Fenroy replied. His attention was back on ESPN before Tommy and Sammi even made it out the door.

"I see you're driving yourself around more and more," Sammi said, spotting his car parked down the street. "So much for saving gas money?"

He laughed. "Just for today," he shot back. "This crazy girl wouldn't let me out of her apartment last night. Almost made me late for work. I had to drop her off at her job and everything."

"She sounds much too good for you," Sammi commented as he pulled her door open for her.

"She is," Tommy replied once she got settled in her seat. She smiled up at him and he leaned into the car to give her a quick kiss before shutting her door and jogging around to his side. He started the car and turned on his windshield wipers as a light sprinkling of rain began to fall and pulled off.

Sammi felt a little nervous at the prospect of going to his apartment, but it was just her old nerves making their presence known again. She was under no illusions about the huge personal strides she'd been making over the last couple of weeks and she was taking huge risks – for her – and putting herself out there in ways she'd never dreamed she would or could. But she felt that feeling in her gut again, the one that made her feel like she could really trust Tommy. She wasn't sure she was there completely yet, but she trusted him at least a little for now.

He pulled up in front of a newer apartment building in a part of town that was made up of mostly middle class citizens. It wasn't far from the gym at all, or maybe it just seemed closer since they hadn't waited forever for a bus or the train. Although parking was always a hassle, and gas prices were just simply too high, and insurance was a _bitch_, Sammi had to admit there was something to be said for controlling one's own transportation.

The apartment building itself was very clean and smelled like a mixture of sawdust and vanilla, a peculiar combination of odors but one she found to be actually quite nice. It wasn't very well lit, as several of the bulbs in the wall sconces were going out, but Tommy led her to his first floor unit. He used a little metal computerized chip to unlock his door and with an electronic _zing_, he pressed down on the handle and stood back to let her in.

She glanced around, immediately noting the lack of décor and also how incredibly tidy it was. She smiled at him as he reached around her to flick on a light.

"Expecting company?" she asked. "It's so clean in here."

He smiled and shrugged. "Nah. I just like it neat."

He had a flat screen on the wall and an entertainment center below it. She spotted a digital cable box, a DVD player and an Xbox gaming system. He had DVDs and video games lined up neatly on the shelf of the entertainment center and she had a sudden urge to check and see if they were alphabetized. There was a coffee table in the middle of the room and the couch was a dark brown microfiber, with wide seats and extra plush cushions. There was a matching easy chair and ottoman angled next to it.

"Something to drink?" he asked, moving to the kitchen.

"Just water," she replied. "Thanks."

She glanced over at a long end table against the wall. There were two framed pictures on it and she leaned over to see them better. One was an older picture of a woman appearing to be in her late thirties or early forties. She had wavy, mid-length dark hair and wore glasses, but Sammi instantly recognized her plump, luscious lips and smiled. The other picture was of Tommy and a young Hispanic man, taken in a desert. They were both wearing military-issued camouflage uniforms and wearing sunglasses. They had their arms slung around each other's shoulders and both were grinning widely. Sammi knew she was looking at Manny, his best friend. There was a single votive candle in between the photos and it was currently unlit. Sammi could tell from the black charred wick and the dried melted wax that Tommy lit it from time to time.

She took her seat again, stretching her legs in front of her when Tommy reappeared. He held a plastic bottle of Gatorade in one hand and held her mug in the other. He smirked at her and set the mug in front of her. Sammi saw that it was filled with water and ice. She chuckled.

"Killin' two birds and all that," Tommy said, guzzling a swallow of Gatorade. Sammi picked up the mug and sipped at it demurely. She set it back down and turned to face him.

"I really don't care about the mug," she informed him. "It was all a ploy to see where you live."

"Ah," Tommy replied. "Well done." He smiled at her. "Regardless, you have it back now. I think you have something for me?"

Sammi grinned and grabbed the sack. She grabbed his foil-covered wrap and pulled it out, pleased that it still felt warm. She turned back to hand it to him, but instead of taking it, he slipped a hand around the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her jaw, and pulled her closer. His lips stroked hers softly, and as always, she marveled at how soft they felt against hers and the way they enveloped her mouth.

"That's actually what I meant," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. Then he snatched the wrap from her hand. "But this works too." She laughed and pushed his shoulder. "Aren't you eating?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, I ate earlier," she replied. Tommy nodded and handed her the remote for the TV before immersing himself in his meal. Sammi sighed contentedly and flipped through the channels rapidly, searching for something interesting to watch.

"How can you even tell what you're watching?" Tommy demanded around a mouthful of his wrap. "It's givin' me a headache."

"I'm just extraordinarily talented," Sammi replied absently, her attention momentarily captured by a reality show featuring a bunch of women screaming in each other's faces. She cocked her head curiously before zipping past the show. She finally settled on a cable presentation of "The Godfather" and snuggled into Tommy's side once he finished his meal.

"Thanks for the food," he said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close.

"You are most welcome," she replied. They watched together in silence for a while and then Tommy spoke, gesturing at the screen.

"Your dad looks like Sonny," he commented and Sammi squinted at the screen. After a moment she had to laugh. Her father did resemble the older version of Sonny, or rather the actor that portrayed him – James Caan.

"He does," she marveled. "Don't tell him that, though. He'll go around shouting 'Bada-bing!' at everything and everyone."

"And your Uncle Gino reminds me of Don Corleone," Tommy added. "The way he sits there all quiet. Just takin' everything in. Plottin' on how to whack you."

"Whack _you_, maybe," Sammi said with a grin. "Me, I'm his favorite. Don't tell Nik or Toni that."

"I will," Tommy replied. "I'm tellin' them next time I see 'em. And it's your ass."

Sammi slipped an arm across his waist and snuggled into his chest as his arm squeezed her gently. She felt so at peace, so very contented that she let out a sigh.

"Everything good?" he asked mildly.

"Good," she answered, smiling into his side. "Very good."

They continued to watch the movie in a comfortable silence. Although it was Sammi's favorite, she couldn't help it when her eyelids started to get heavy. She tried to fight it and stay awake, but soon enough, she had dozed off against him.

She woke some time later when she felt his fingers slip under her sweater and begin to stroke her skin, similar to what he had done the previous night, but this time he had the entire expanse of her back available to him. She shivered when his fingers traced lightly up her side, across the bottoms of her shoulder blades and down her spine. For a moment she lost herself in the tingling, almost ticklish sensations his fingers were leaving in their wake across her smooth skin.

"You're sleepin' through your movie," he said quietly.

She yawned and stretched her neck. "Sorry," she replied. "I must be sleepier than I thought."

"Then maybe we should go lay down for a little bit," came his reply and it brought her up short. His voice had somehow deepened and there was an unmistakably suggestive tone in it.

He caught the worry on her face and smiled. "Don't worry," he teased gently. "I'll behave. Don't know if _you_ will, but I'll be a good boy. Anyway, I'm a little tired myself."

It didn't really take a whole lot of persuasion on his part to convince her to lay in a bed with him, so she nodded. It would be nice to take a nap before he brought her home, and although his couch was comfortable, the thought of stretching out in a bed was appealing.

He showed her where his bathroom was and she turned on the water after shutting the door, shy about him hearing her pee. As she washed her hands at the sink she spotted a large jug of mouthwash and quickly took a swig, wincing at the strong sting from the alcohol. She rinsed her mouth thoroughly and spat, then took another swig and repeated the action. She left the bathroom and stopped short, seeing Tommy standing in front of his bed with his back to her. He was pulling off his shirt and she forgot about everything as she looked at the muscles of his back, his well-defined trap muscles, the curve of his shoulders. He turned around and caught her looking, and half-smiled at her expression. He moved past her and she couldn't help but eye his chest and stomach.

"Go get comfortable," he said. "I'll be right back." He slipped into the bathroom and she turned toward the bed. She moved toward it and after a moment's hesitation, undid her jeans and pulled them off her legs. It was an extremely bold move, but she told herself that she would have done the same thing if she were preparing for a nap at home. After another moment, she freed her hair from its bun and let the waves fluff around her face and laid down, pulling his covers over her legs.

Tommy left the bathroom, flicking off the light and in the darkness crossed the hall to his bedroom. He slipped into bed beside her and for a moment froze when he brushed her bare leg with his foot. She wondered if he would say anything but he didn't. Instead he gathered her up and pulled her against his chest.

They stayed like that for a while, Sammi's fingers twitching as she fought the urge to run them over his warm skin. She no longer felt sleepy; she felt warm. Hot. Aroused.

As though he could sense it, Tommy began brushing his lips against her forehead, her temple, down her cheek until he found her lips in the dark. She latched on immediately and grabbed at him, deciding to allow her hands to move over him all they wanted. His body was incredible and his face was better; she was in heaven.

He was only wearing sweatpants, and once again she could feel his hardness spring to life against her thigh as his hand slid down to it, touching her smooth skin and pulling her leg up to his waist. Meanwhile, his tongue was coaxing hers to meet his in a slow, moist tango, and she could taste the sharp mint flavor of his mouthwash, but whether it was from her mouth or his or both she couldn't be sure. All she knew was that she couldn't get enough of the taste of his tongue.

His fingers slid up her thigh and swept across the front, heading for the warm shelter they'd found between her legs the night before. They hesitated over her panties, and Sammi knew he was making sure it was okay with her again. Given that she'd hardly been able to think of anything else since then, she whispered, "Yes."

His fingers brushed slowly, lightly, against her through the fabric of her panties like they had the night before and she shuddered at the sensation and felt herself grow moist with arousal. He continued to tease her through her panties and Sammi felt the same, familiar tight coil of heat tense in her pelvis. Finally, after several long moments of agonizing teasing, he slipped his fingers under the material, against her flesh. When his finger stroked her ultra-sensitive pearl, primed with desire after a day of thinking of him and wanting him, she burst immediately, gasping into his mouth as she dug her fingers into his flesh. He chuckled softly, amused at her lightning-fast orgasm. He slipped his fingers lower, teasing her opening and enjoying her wetness. She lay very still, breathing hard, wondering if she would allow him to enter her with his fingers, and she hardly had time to fight herself about it when she felt one slip into her and stroke her inner wall slowly and firmly. She gasped again, the sensation so alien to her after all this time, but she was so turned on that she wanted more; her thighs unconsciously spread wider. As her wetness gushed again, he added a second finger.

He seemed to breathing as raggedly as she was and she felt him straining against her thigh. She was tempted – _so_ tempted, her body screaming for it, but she knew that if she let her body make that call, her mind would suffer for it.

"Tommy," she whispered. "I – I'm not sure –"

"Shh," he whispered back into her skin. "I told you. I just want to touch you."

His fingers found a rhythm, and as they worked inside her he buried his face in her neck, listening to her breathing, her soft moans. She could hardly believe she was experiencing this, that she was _allowing _it to happen, but…it just felt so good.

So good, in fact, that she felt the familiar heat coiling in her stomach yet again, but this time it felt deeper, buried inside her core, more intense. She mumbled unintelligibly as his fingers coaxed the feeling inside her to come to the surface, stronger and stronger, until her eyes were flying open again and her body shook and shuddered and Tommy's lips dropped onto hers as she came again, so intense it literally took her breath away for a moment. He waited until she'd calmed down a little before stroking her gently a few more times and then withdrawing his fingers.

She was suddenly overcome with the desire to give _him _something in return. She felt shy about it, having been out of practice for quite some time. Despite that, her fingers touched the skin above the waistband of his sweatpants, before closing around the elastic and tugging downward.

Instantly his hand was over hers, pulling it away. "Nope," he said softly, his breath warming her neck.

"But," she said shyly, "I want to."

"And I appreciate that," he replied, smiling into her flesh. "But I'll be okay. I wanted to touch you. That's all. Remember?"

"But –"

"No," he replied, kissing her. "Not yet." He gathered her up against him again, wrapping his arms around her.

As she snuggled into his embrace, she felt slightly bad that she wasn't giving him anything back, but he was right – it might have been too much too soon. She laughed inwardly at her own grudging selfishness and quickly pressed her lips to his shoulder, wondering how in the world she'd gotten lucky enough to find someone like Tommy Conlon.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm not thrilled with this chapter. I apologize in advance if it blows - I struggled with some writer's block. I know where I'm going with it but it came out in not a super satisfactory manner. Anywhoodles...read if you like! If you're not impressed with this one and all the typos - sorry. Blame it on my hectic day and my desire to not leave you with a whole weekend of nothing from me. Kisses to you all.**

When Sammi suddenly jerked awake and sat straight up in bed hours later, she knew she was dead.

Her sudden, sharp movements caused Tommy to wake instantly beside her and sit up too. He watched as she slapped her hand down on his alarm clock and brought it to her face in disbelief before slamming it back down on his nightstand.

"Problem?" Tommy asked mildly.

"Holy shit!" she breathed. "Holy fuck. I'm in so much trouble."

It was thirty-seven minutes past seven o'clock; she was supposed to have been at the café at six-thirty. Once a month, her parents took a thorough inventory of the supplies in the café before preparing to make their large, monthly order to their suppliers for re-stock. Inventory was a laborious process and the family usually came in a couple hours before opening to get it done. Sammi's help was always especially needed to cut down on the time and this inventory day had happened on a Saturday when she wasn't teaching dance class; her studio was finally being refloored and the _barres_ replaced, and there was no other available studio space at that time. She had called the parents of each of her pupils a few days prior to let them know class had been canceled. Her parents had been delighted when they'd found out she was available for monthly inventory.

She was explaining all of this rapidly to Tommy as she hopped out of bed to struggle into her jeans and yank on her sweater which she'd evidently stripped off at some point during the night. She swept her hair back into its bun and hurried into his bathroom, still talking, pausing only to splash water on her face and rinse her mouth with his mouthwash. He was listening to her rant quietly as he picked his clothes up from the floor and dressed, then moved into the bathroom behind her. He smiled at her wide-eyed expression.

"Relax," he said to her reflection. "I'll drive you there. Okay? Give me a minute."

Sammi stepped out of the bathroom so he could use it and brush his teeth and paced frantically. She pulled her phone from her bag and groaned aloud when she saw thirteen missed calls from the café and several texts from Bunz asking for her whereabouts. When Tommy emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later she held up her phone.

"Dead," she repeated. "I'm so dead."

"So you're a little late," he said, picking up his gym bag. "They'll understand. C'mon."

They hurried out of his apartment and into his car, Sammi still chattering away as she stared out the window.

"My parents don't play that late shit," she said. "_Especially _not today. Were you listening? This is like, the biggest day of the month."

"I was listening," Tommy replied, a hint of a laugh in his voice. Sammi whirled to face him and saw him quickly fold his lips inward to hide his smile.

"It's not funny!" she exclaimed as he sped along. "They are going to be – they _are _– so pissed right now."

To his credit, Tommy was a good driver and got to Bloomfield in record time. Suddenly, the full horror of her situation hit her like a brick and she couldn't believe she'd overlooked it.

"You have to drop me off at the corner!" she gasped. "They can't see you dropping me off. Oh, my God. My father will kill you. _And _I'm in the same clothes as I was yesterday? Oh, my God. You have to drop me off a block away."

"Sammi," Tommy said disapprovingly. "I'm not gonna hide the fact that I dropped you off. Come on, now. We're all adults."

"My father doesn't give a _shit _that the law 'technically' recognizes me as an adult," she said mournfully.

Tommy shot her a look. "You're bein' dramatic." He parked the car right in front of the café. "Besides, he and I need to have a talk anyway. Come on. Get out."

The café, not open until eight, was still locked although the lights were on. She knocked hesitantly and Bunz appeared instantly. Sammi had sent her a text letting her know she was on her way. Bunz's expression held a mixture of annoyance and entertainment as she noted in one sweeping glance that Sammi and Tommy were together at this early hour and that Sammi was wearing her clothes from the day before.

"How bad?" Sammi asked breathlessly when Bunz opened the door.

"Bad," Bunz replied. She nodded her head at Tommy. "So bad, I'm going to leave and get some tea."

"Uh…" Sammi gestured to the barista counter where containers of tea were lined up neatly in a row.

"Key word being _leave_," Bunz said, slipping into her jacket. She looked between the two of them and shook her head sadly. "It was nice knowing you, Tommy. May the force be with you guys." She slipped out and let the door shut behind her.

"Samantha, get your ass back here!" her father's voice called from the back. "Let's get to work!"

She trudged back toward the kitchen, Tommy following close behind her. She peered around the corner and saw both of her parents holding clipboards peering at shelves. On the stainless steel island were boxes and bottles and packages.

"You mind tellin' me why the hell you're almost ninety minutes late?" her father asked absently. He glanced over at her and did a double-take when he saw Tommy standing next to her.

"Good morning, sir," Tommy said calmly. "Ma'am."

"Good morning, Tommy," Mrs. Carnevale replied automatically, but there was surprise and curiosity in her voice. "What, uh –" Her question hesitated on her lips.

"I drove Sammi to work this morning, ma'am," Tommy replied.

"You dropped my daughter off," Mr. Carnevale said, and it wasn't a question.

"Yes, sir."

"You dropped my daughter off when she lives three blocks from here," Mr. Carnevale added.

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Carnevale's eyes shifted to Sammi, and he noted that she was in the same clothes he'd seen her in yesterday. He lifted his eyebrows. Sammi sighed.

"_What_, Pop?" she asked, exasperated. "I went to Tommy's last night. We watched a movie, and I fell asleep."

"Then, that would be the time for you to wake her up and take her home," Mr. Carnevale said to Tommy, blinking.

"I would have, sir," Tommy replied, "except I fell asleep myself. I take responsibility for Sammi not arriving on time this morning."

Sammi looked up at him and opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a discreet touch to her back.

Mr. Carnevale was openly sizing him up. "And you better never let that happen again," he said, and it was a veiled threat. To his credit, Tommy looked completely unfazed as he nodded.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Mr. Carnevale shifted his eyes back to Sammi, who felt her insides shudder. "All right, then," he said, and Sammi braced herself for his next point of attack. "What's this I hear about you wantin' to take my daughter out of town?"

Sammi noticed that Tommy was standing with almost military-like rigidity, the force of habit from years in the Corps still strong upon him. "Yes, sir. I intended to speak to you about that today. I did ask Sammi if she would be interested in coming to Buffalo for the tournament with me. I'd like to ask your permission for her attendance, as well, provided she wants to join me."

"Separate rooms?" Mr. Carnevale demanded.

"Yes, sir."

"Dad," Sammi said pointedly. She hated being discussed like she was neither present nor an adult; her father had always been like this, even with her older sisters, her entire life, but since the attack it had become so much worse.

"I'm just tryin' to make sure you're gonna be okay, sweetie," her father said. He lifted a finger. "My daughter better be safe wit' you."

"Yes, sir," Tommy replied. "She is and she will be. Absolutely."

"All those violent guys, you can't keep an eye on her the whole time if you're fightin'," Mr. Carnevale went on. "I don't like the idea of her bein' alone. I know how these guys can be, especially with a pretty girl standin' around."

"She won't be alone, sir," Tommy said. "My family is coming with me as well. My older brother and my father will be present. Sammi will be in good hands while I'm in the ring."

"She better be," Mr. Carnevale said. "I told you before, I got a rifle and a shovel and a whole lot of connections."

Tommy's mouth twitched and Sammi knew he wanted to laugh. "Yes, sir. Roger that, sir."

Mr. Carnevale nodded, then stepped forward and extended his hand. Tommy immediately grasped it, and they shook. Sammi felt both touched and embarrassed; she loved seeing her father and Tommy getting along but hated that she felt like such a helpless infant at times. She knew that was just how her father was, and how he'd always be, but it never ceased to annoy her.

"Okay," Sammi said. "Tommy has to be going now!" She looked up at him. "Right? You have to get to the gym. Or someplace that's not here."

He smiled down at her. "I do need to be going. Sir, ma'am," he turned back to her parents and shook hands with them both again. Sammi had to roll her eyes when she saw her mother's eyes go wide and her hands flutter a little when Tommy turned to her. "It was a pleasure as always."

"Goodbye, Tommy," her mother said with a big smile. Her father merely nodded at him. Sammi grabbed his arm and hustled him out of the kitchen toward the door.

"See? That wasn't so bad," Tommy told her. "And your dad is fine with you coming with me. Now it's just up to _you_."

"Right," Sammi said. "I guess that was about as painless as it's going to be."

"Now you just have to deal with how pissed he is that you were late," Tommy added. He smiled innocently.

"_You_ made me late!" she hissed, shoving his arm a little. "You were supposed to wake up and take me home!"

His smile turned mischievous as he opened the door. He glanced over her shoulder then leaned down, tilting his head until his lips were just a breath away. "You just seemed to sleeping so peacefully, all of a sudden," he murmured teasingly. "No clue why, though. I didn't want to wake you up."

"You know why," she murmured back, her annoyance forgotten as memories flooded her mind and her face heated up.

He laughed and leaned in, kissing her chastely. "What are you up to the rest of the day, after you leave here?"

"Working on my dance," she said.

"Thought you said the studio was being remodeled?"

"It is," she replied. "I'll just work on it at home. I don't prefer that, but, I really need to nail this thing. You?"

"Sparring and film," he replied. Sammi realized that between both their endeavors, they likely wouldn't be seeing each other that evening.

"Sam!" her father's voice shouted. "Let's go."

She sighed and made a face, then smiled. "Duty calls," she said lightly. "Will you text or call me later?"

In reply, Tommy leaned forward again and brushed her lips with his. It was reminiscent of their first kiss; sweet, almost loving, but there was just the slightest edge of the lightning hot passion that they'd managed to develop between them. She wanted to deepen the kiss but he suddenly pulled away.

"Have a good one, ma'am," he called, looking over her shoulder. He squeezed Sammi's hand. "Talk to you later," he added, then with another wave to Sammi's mother, he left, jogging toward his car. Sammi sighed and turned around, seeing her mother standing against the counter with her arms folded. She was smiling widely.

"Ma," Sammi said, but she couldn't stop smiling herself. "Please."

"I like that boy," her mother said. "So sweet. Such a gentleman. So good-looking, too."

"He is," Sammi said simply. "All of those thing."

"Your father likes him, too," Mrs. Carnevale added as they walked back into the kitchen. "Don't let him fool you."

"I _do_ like him," Mr. Carnevale insisted. "But if he fucks up, he's still a dead man. _Capisci?_"

:O:O:O:

Later that evening Sammi lay in the middle of her living room floor. She held scraps of black material in her hands and a pair of scissors. She had just finished rehearsing for a couple hours after moving all of her furniture out of the way, and had just spent a half an hour stretching out her muscles and toweling off the layer of sweat she'd found herself drenched in. She was extremely pleased with the outcome of her dance, and felt irritation that she wasn't able to use the studio at the Y that evening to get the full, completed and fine-tuned effect.

Her costume was going to be utterly simple, requiring only a little creativity and few choice snips of the scissors. She turned on some music, though she kept the volume moderately low as her crabby neighbors down the hall tended to get annoyed when she played anything even remotely loud. She folded in her legs and hunched over her project, her head bobbing to the beat of the hip hop song flowing from her speakers.

Within a half an hour, she'd made all of the cuts to her top that she wanted and was threading a needle when her phone went off behind her. She slid backward on the carpet to grab it, smiling when she saw who the message was from.

_"__Hope all is well and you're still in one piece…?"_

_"__For the time being. It was touch and go there for a while. What are you up to?"_

_"__Taking a little break from sparring with the guys. Brendan came down to the gym and we've been going at it. He demanded a rematch from last time. He's a sore loser."_

_"__I'll be sure to bring that up tomorrow evening. I sense that could be a very entertaining topic of conversation."_

_"__I'd rather you didn't, if you don't mind. Speaking of, I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. Wish it could have been tonight."_

_"__Me too, but…duty calls for both of us. You miss me though. I understand."_

_"__I don't really, not that much. You miss me."_

_"__Not nearly as much as you might expect, homie."_

_"__It's all right. Saving face, I get it. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I'm NOT thinking of you, and I DON'T miss you, and I CAN wait to see you until tomorrow."_

_"__Back at you. What time should I be ready?"_

_"__I'll be there at 3. Cool?"_

_"__I'll be ready…have a good night, you."_

_"__You too."_

Sammi set her phone down and rolled over on her back, looking up at the ceiling and sighing. Rocky sauntered over, having spent most of the evening perched on the edge of the sofa to stay out of Sammi's way. Now, he crept cautiously onto her chest, his small paws digging into her abdomen as he settled himself comfortably on her stomach and peered into her face. She smiled and scratched his head as he purred.

"Don't miss him," she mumbled to her cat. "Not at all." She grinned a little at her own silliness as a feeling of anticipation and excitement at seeing him again the following day filled her. And it was…_nice_ to feel that way about someone again.

:O:O:O:

The next day, Sammi stood in front of her closet, naked except for her underwear, as she tried to find something appropriate to wear. She didn't want to be too dressed up; it was a barbecue after all, and she didn't want to seem high-maintenance. On the other hand, she didn't know how his family would respond to her penchant for vegan leather, leopard print and lace, so she didn't want to be too funky, either.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It was already two-thirty, and Tommy seemed to be extremely punctual with a tendency to be early, so she knew she'd better hustle. Her hair and makeup were in place, but she'd already spent thirty minutes standing in front of her collection of clothes. Finally, she decided on cream colored linen shorts, a pale pink tank top with a ruffle down the front, and a form fitting hip length navy blue blazer. She added a pair of flat, camel-colored sandals with gold hardware and accessorized herself with a little gold jewelry. She checked herself out and was satisfied enough with what she'd chosen for the first genuinely warm day of the season.

A knock at the door signaled that it was time to go, so she hurried out of her bedroom and grabbed her bag. She peeked through the peephole and smiled, before quickly undoing the locks on the door and pulling it open. She grinned widely at Tommy, surprising even herself with the surge of happiness she felt at the sight of him. She noticed he'd gotten his hair cut, and she liked it. She told him so.

"Thanks," he replied. He reached out for her and pulled her against him. She loved the fact that he was so affectionate toward her; it made her feel extremely secure and content. "You look nice."

"Thanks," she echoed, somewhat self-consciously. She eyed his dress of jeans, fresh white sneakers and a casual gray T-shirt. "This isn't too much, right?"

"No," he answered simply. "You look great." He took her hand and pulled her out the door, and she turned to quickly lock up behind her before following him downstairs, content to be with him again. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks.

"Oh, wait," she replied, turning and rushing for the door. Tommy made a small noise of impatience but she waved him off. "Just one second." She hurried inside and grabbed an item off her counter, then hustled back out into the hallway, repeating the process of locking her door.

Tommy eyed the bottle in her hand doubtfully. "Um. That was really nice of you to bring something, but…we can't take that over. Since Pop – well, he's in recovery, and –"

At first Sammi was utterly confused as to what Tommy was getting at; when it dawned on her, she shook her head quickly and held up the bottle.

"No, no, it's sparkling juice," she said, pointing to the label. "See?"

Tommy's eyes shifted to the label and his face relaxed. He turned his trademark half-smile on her. "Oh. My fault. That's really thoughtful of you." He leaned over and pecked her forehead before taking her hand and leading her down the hall again and outside.

The day was cheerfully bright and Sammi tilted her face toward the sun, letting her eyes shut a little. It had been consistently chilly and rainy but today was sunny and warm; it was a fluke, as more cool and wet weather was headed their way. For today, she would enjoy it.

"Perfect day for this," she commented, sliding into his car. He shut her door and walked around the vehicle to his own side.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I suppose so."

Sammi didn't miss his less than enthusiastic tone. "What's the matter?" she asked, shifting her body toward his and curling her legs underneath her. "You sound so…melancholy."

He shrugged. "Things can be a little awkward from time to time," he replied. "It's still weird to be together as a family. You know. Parents, kids. The grouchy uncle and the grandfather who tries to overcompensate for missed time."

Sammi smiled understandingly. "Listen," she said. "No one's family is perfect. Look at mine – we're crazy. But at the end of the day, we love each other." She shrugged. "That's really all that matters. Same for your family. You spent time with Brendan last night, you have a relationship with your nieces. Things might be a little strained still with your father, but you have to know he loves you."

Tommy shrugged again. "I'm sure you're right," was all he said, and Sammi left it alone. She had come to realize that he wasn't one to be pushed, but she wanted to revisit the topic later. She reached over to take his hand, and they drove the rest of the way like that. She made small talk, because she was good at that, and Tommy listened to her quietly, replying when it was appropriate. When he arrived at his brother's home, he seemed to tense up even more, so Sammi gave his hand a squeeze to get his attention. When he looked over at her, she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly on the lips and pulled back and smiled.

"This will be fun," she insisted gently. "I can't wait to meet everyone. Let's go!" Before he could move, she turned and opened her door, hopping out into the driveway. He slowly followed suit, closing and locking the doors before meeting her and taking her hand. For all her comments for Tommy's benefit, Sammi felt herself starting to get shy and a little nervous; she still tended to clam up in front of new people. She knew she couldn't do that now, so she took a deep breath as Tommy knocked on the door. As if he sensed her sudden unease, he glanced over at her and this time, it was him who squeezed her hand reassuringly.

A petite blonde with big, wide-set blue eyes and a big smile opened the door. "Hey, you," she said to Tommy, giving him a quick hug. She turned to Sammi and smiled brightly. "Hi," she said warmly. "You must be Sammi. I'm Tess. It's really nice to meet you finally." She held out her hand.

Sammi took it and gave it a shake, returning her smile. She already felt more comfortable. "It's nice to meet you too," she replied. "Thanks for having me."

"Are you kidding?" Tess exclaimed. "Of course! Come on in here." She led them inside and through a short hallway that opened to a living room; beyond that Sammi could see the kitchen, and the opened back door where she could hear little girls' laughter. "By the way," Tess added, turning to look at Sammi over her shoulder, "my daughters are already obsessed with you. They found out you're a ballerina so, just be prepared to answer a million questions and look at everything they own that's ballet-related."

"That sounds awesome," Sammi said with a laugh. She nudged Tommy. "You never told me they were into ballet!"

"Sorry," Tommy replied with a smirk, "must have slipped my mind."

"Oh, here," Sammi said, remembering the bottle in her hand. She held it out to Tess. "It's not wine, it's sparkling juice. So the girls can have some too if they like."

"Aw, thanks," Tess said, taking the bottle. She smiled at Sammi. "You guys go on out back, I'll go put this away. I've got iced tea, lemonade, soda…?"

"Lemonade sounds great," Sammi replied.

"Sure thing. Tommy?"

"What she said," he answered.

"Okay. Bren and Paddy and the girls are all out there. I'll be out in a minute."

Sammi let Tommy lead the way outside. She immediately saw the two little girls playing with a large golden lab in the yard. Brendan was standing at the grill and an older man, tall and stocky, lounged against the deck railing as he watched them play.

"Hey, guys!" Brendan exclaimed, catching sight of them.

"Hey," Tommy replied.

"Hi," Sammi said shyly, smiling and waving at Brendan. She jumped in the next instant when an ear-splitting shriek met her ears.

"_Uncle Tommy!_"

Sammi let go of his hand in enough time for two small bodies to rush toward him; he managed to scoop one of the little girls into his arms while the other hugged around his waist. Sammi couldn't help grinning.

"Hey, you," Tommy said to the little girl he held, accepting an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek. He ruffled the hair of the girl who hugged his waist. "And you. What you guys been doing? You been good?"

"Of course we've been good!"

Tommy turned toward Sammi, still holding one niece and maneuvering the other. "This is my friend Sammi," he told them. "Can you say hi?"

"Hi," the girls chorused together.

"This is Rosie," Tommy said to Sammi, indicating the girl in his arms. "And this is Emily." He smoothed his hand over his other niece's head.

"Hi, girls," Sammi said, smiling at them.

"Aren't you the ballerina?" Emily demanded.

"I am," Sammi replied, smiling at them. "I heard you guys are ballerinas, too, though."

"Put me down," Rosie ordered, pounding on his shoulder. "I wanna show her my steps."

"What?" Tommy asked, feigning hurt. "I just got here, I haven't seen you in a couple weeks, and already you're done with me?"

"Yes, you're not a ballerina," she informed him.

"Rosie, sweetie, Sammi just got here," Brendan called to his daughter. "Why don't we let her get comfortable first?"

"I wanna show her my shoes," Emily said. Brendan sighed.

"Fine. Go get your shoes." The two girls ran into the house.

"Hey, son," the older man spoke up. He'd been standing back quietly, watching the interaction between his son and his granddaughters.

"Hey, Pop," Tommy replied a little stiffly, accepting his father's pat and squeeze on his shoulder with a nod. "How you been?"

"I been good, I been real good," his father replied. His eyes shifted to Sammi and she met them. They were a bright, twinkling blue, crinkling at the corners when he smiled just like Tommy's did. She smiled back.

"And who's this lovely young lady?" his father asked, removing his hand from Tommy's shoulder and reaching out for Sammi's. She took his hand and shook it. He patted the top of it with his other hand.

"I'm Sammi," she said shyly. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Conlon."

"Paddy, please," he insisted. "Just Paddy."

"Paddy," she amended.

Tess reappeared just then carrying two sweating glasses of lemonade. She handed them to Tommy and Sammi. Sammi took a long sip of hers.

"Mm. This is some of the best lemonade I've ever had," she said sincerely.

"Aw, thanks," Tess said with a smile. "It's my grandmother's recipe."

"It's all right," Tommy teased. Tess rolled her eyes and laughed.

"How do you put up with him?" she asked Sammi jokingly, shoving at Tommy's shoulder. "He's always such a damn smart ass."

"It's a challenge at times," Sammi replied, smiling at him. He waved her off in mock dismissal.

"Burgers and brats are done, guys!" Brendan suddenly exclaimed. "Let's eat."

Sammi accepted a plate from Tommy as Tess went to go call her children. There was a large round patio table with an umbrella attached to it and enough chairs for everyone to sit underneath it. It was so unlike family dinner at Sammi's house; her mother always insisted on setting a nice table in the dining room. Sammi liked how casual it was with his family. She filled her plate and sat down in a seat that allowed the sun to warm her back and smiled as Tommy sat down next to her. He seemed to be relaxing a little more, and as his nieces argued over who was going to be sitting next to him, he loosened up even more. He pulled his smallest niece onto his lap to sit there while he ate while the other got the seat right next to him.

Sammi noticed that everyone seemed to be laid back and relaxed; it was nothing like her family. By the time they had actually gotten to eat last Sunday, Tommy had already been grilled for at least thirty minutes. Tess and Brendan and Paddy asked her general questions about herself and seemed genuinely interested in what she had going on. Sammi wondered vaguely how much about her past they were aware of. She didn't think that Tommy would tell them anything. At least, she hoped not.

She warmed to Paddy as well. She knew of his history from the things Tommy had told her, but sitting next to her now was only a kindly older gentleman, friendly, funny. She could feel a little tension between the three men, but after a while even that dissipated a bit. Paddy seemed especially interested in the fact that she'd been born and raised in Brooklyn and began regaling her with a funny story about an old Marine buddy of his, an Italian boy from Brooklyn who he'd gone to boot with and then several years later they found themselves in the same unit. At several points in the story Sammi found herself laughing out loud at the shenanigans that Paddy and his friend found themselves taking part in once upon a time. She caught Tommy's eye during one such moment and found that he was watching her, half-smiling when she burst out laughing.

As the afternoon stretched on, Tess rose to her feet and started collecting dishes. Sammi immediately rose with her. "Let me help you," she said, and stacked her and Tommy's plates and silverware together.

"Oh," Tess said. "Thank you. That would be really nice. It'll give us a chance to talk a little bit."

"Go easy on her," Tommy joked from his seat.

"I will, I will," Tess teased back.

Sammi followed her around the table, struck with a feeling that it was now her turn to be interrogated. Tess seemed to be a pretty straight-forward woman, and Sammi realized just how protective she seemed of Tommy. She wondered if he'd ever brought a girl home before.

Tess was holding the screen door open for her. "This way," she said.

Sammi followed her inside into the spacious kitchen and braced herself for the interview.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hi readers and friends! Sorry it took me a while to get this update out. Hope you enjoy it. I also went back and cleaned up the last chapter, as well as extending the scene between Tommy and Mr. Carnevale for any of you interested to go back and read. Anyway, please enjoy the latest installment of this story. Reviews are welcomed and much appreciated. Thanks!**

**Chapter 24**

Sammi set her stack of dishes in the sink carefully as Tess turned on the water to rinse them off. She handed Sammi the rinsed dishes to place in the dishwasher and Sammi waited patiently for her to start talking.

"So," Tess said finally. "It seems like you and Tommy are really getting along well. Brendan had told me that he'd been seeing you for a little while but I guess I didn't know it was this serious."

Sammi shrugged. "I'm not sure _what_ it is, to be totally honest with you," she replied. "We have been spending a lot of time together and I do really like him. I just haven't 'dated' in a really, really long time so I don't want to scare him off with the 'so what are we?' conversation. He hasn't brought it up."

"Why have you been out of the dating scene?" Tess asked, then quickly shook her head. "Sorry. That came out rude. I just mean, you said you haven't been dating for a long time, so I just was wondering if there was a reason for that."

Sammi cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable. "I've had a rough year," she finally said, deciding that seemed like an innocuous enough answer. "And before that I wasn't really serious about anyone but I dated here and there."

"I guess I should just be totally blunt with you," Tess said, and Sammi looked up at her. "Tommy and I aren't super close, but I do care about him because he is my brother-in-law and he's my husband's brother. I know he still feels a certain way about me and Brendan because he felt like Brendan chose me over him when he and their mother were getting ready to leave to go west. We've made leaps and bounds over the past six months or so, but we're still not _quite_ there."

Sammi just looked at her, not sure exactly where she was going with her statement, but she had to admit that she had sensed a little bit of tension between Tommy and Tess. It wasn't anything blatant; they still exchanged pleasantries and Sammi knew he cared about Tess in his own way. She picked up that it was more discomfort and uncertainty rather than animosity.

"Anyway, I'm saying all of that to say this: Because I _do_ care about Tommy and because he _is_ my husband's brother, I feel sort of protective over him. He's had a rough past and now that he's sort of 'famous' I feel like there's no shortage of people who try to take advantage of him. He can handle his own with the general public, but when it comes to girls I'm not so sure. As long as _I've_ known him, he's never dated anyone seriously because I know he has trust issues and he gets a lot of attention from women now, women who only see a nice face or body, and dollar signs or fame. I just don't want him to get hurt."

Sammi listened to her intently but couldn't help having the urge to laugh. _Tommy_ had trust issues?

"I think it's really sweet of you to look out for him," Sammi said earnestly. "I knew who Tommy was before he and I officially met. But I brushed him off at first because I thought he would turn out to be some egotistical asshole since he's pretty well-known now. I came to realize that he's not like that, and that's what I fell for. I couldn't give a rat's ass about whatever 'fame and fortune' he has. Besides, he hates getting recognized as it is."

Tess studied her for a moment before a slow smile spread over her face. "I like you," she said finally. "I like to think I have a good radar for people's character and I really feel like you're a good girl. At any rate, Tommy's never brought anyone home before, and I've never seen him quite the way he is with you. I guess what I want to tell you is...be careful with him. He's a lot more fragile than you think. He'll never admit to that, of course. But he is."

Sammi nodded as she finished loading the dishes, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. She wanted to tell Tess that no one was more fragile than _she_ was, and that cracking any part of Tommy's fragility was beyond what she was capable or desirous of doing. But she didn't.

"Well, I'm glad he seems happier," she said quietly. "He's a great guy. Any girl would be lucky to have him."

"He and his brother are cut from the same cloth," Tess said with a smile. "So I know just what you mean."

"You and Brendan seem really happy, really close," Sammi commented. "And your kids are really great. I like them a lot."

"They seem to like _you_ a lot," Tess said with a laugh. "They were pretty good throughout dinner but they'll be back at harassing you again here pretty soon."

Sammi laughed. "It's ok. I'm looking forward to that."

Just then, Brendan stuck his head into the kitchen. "You ladies about done?" he asked. He winked at his wife. "C'mon, babe. The dishes can wait until later."

"We've just about got them loaded now anyway," Tess said, watching as Sammi squirted in some detergent. Tess waited until she'd shut the door then cranked the knobs on the machine. The sound of running water hit their ears a moment later as the cycle began.

They followed Brendan back outside and Tommy's eyes sought hers immediately. She winked at him and smiled a little to let him know that everything was ok, and he half-smiled in reply. She wondered if he had actually been worried about Tess being hard on her. She took no offense to anything Tess had to say, and they were all valid concerns. Furthermore, Tess was like a walk in the park on a sunny day with cotton candy compared to her family.

The rest of the evening passed too quickly for Sammi; she was having a great time, and eventually Rosie and Emily had had enough of their manners and had dragged Sammi bodily to their bedroom to show her their costumes, their dance slippers, pictures that their parents had taken of them at their recitals. Then, they showed Sammi steps from their upcoming dance recital. Sammi watched with a smile, her head cocked as she studied the girls. Emily was already a graceful dancer for her age; she was very careful to make sure her feet, hands and arms were just right, that she kept her back straight and her tummy pulled in. Rosie was a little clumsier, but she seemed so happy to dance that her enthusiasm made up for her lack of technique. Sammi asked the girls to teach her their dance and they spent the next half an hour teaching her the steps. Sammi instructed them on how to do them properly, guiding the girls on their posture and form and technique.

That was how Tommy found her a while later, standing between the two little girls, dancing their simple, beginner-level recital dance with them. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her brown eyes sparkling as she smiled at him.

"How do we look, Uncle Tommy?" Rosie asked, twirling toward him. Emily joined in, clumsily turning several _piqué _turns until she crashed into his legs.

"Real good," he replied, ruffling their fine hair. "Can't wait to see you two on stage."

"Sammi helped us get it all right," Rosie informed him. "We showed her our dance twice and she picked up everything. She's really good."

"I had two good teachers," Sammi corrected, smiling at them. "You guys are going to be incredible."

"Will you come watch us?" Emily begged.

"Please!" "Please! Please!" Rosie echoed, jumping up and down on each word.

"Of course," Sammi promised. She put her hands on her hips and made a show of rolling her eyes. "Took you guys long enough to invite me!"

"Come on, shrimps," Tommy said. "Come say goodbye to us and Grandpa."

The girls obediently trotted down the hall and he waited for Sammi to catch up, taking her hand and pulling her close. He hung back for a moment and leaned down for a quick kiss.

"Having fun?" he murmured.

"Yes!" Sammi exclaimed. "The girls are a blast. Your family is really great, Tommy."

He smiled in reply and led her down the hall. Sammi glanced at the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it was already well after eight o'clock. The afternoon and evening had passed quickly between sitting outside in the lowering evening sun – listening to stories from Paddy and Brendan and Tess, talking about current events, their likes and dislikes – and holding an impromptu dance class with the two small girls. She had genuinely enjoyed herself and liked his family immensely.

Paddy shook her hand, then brought it to his lips to peck it quickly.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, sweetie," he said with a smile. "I can see why my boy likes you so much."

"Thanks," she said, returning his smile a little shyly. "It was nice to meet you, too, Paddy. Maybe I'll see you at the end of the week, for the tournament."

"I hope you do come," Paddy said. "It would mean a lot to him if you were there."

"Pop, leave her alone," Tommy spoke up from a few feet away where he was hugging his nieces goodbye. "She's still thinking about it."

"_I_ hope you come," Tess exclaimed, surprising Sammi by pulling her into a quick hug goodbye. "It would be nice to have another woman there. My God, all that testosterone just really tests your patience sometimes. Even more so than having kids." She smiled at Sammi.

"I'm – I'm planning to go," Sammi said, seeing Tommy's head lift to look at her in surprise. "I'll see you all there. And keep you company," she added to Tess.

"Excellent!" Brendan said, reaching out to give her a quick one-armed hug. "You'll like it. It's exciting. Don't listen to my wife."

"Okay," Sammi agreed with a laugh.

Tommy accepted another round of kisses from his nieces before pushing them gently in Sammi's direction.

"Say goodbye," he instructed and the girls ran to her, hugging her around the legs and waist, depending on what they could reach. Sammi wobbled from the impact of their enthusiasm.

"Whoa," she said with a laugh. "Hey, it was nice meeting you guys. Remember to point those toes and bring your _passés_ up nice and high behind your knees on your _piqués_, okay?"

The girls nodded solemnly and promised they would while Tommy shook his head at Brendan, looking mystified.

"She just said a whole bunch of words I don't get," Brendan said, in response to the look Tommy gave him. Everyone laughed.

"As long as _they_ get it," Sammi said, winking at the girls. "If your girls work hard you can be in my class when you get a little older. Okay?"

"Okay!" they both chimed. Emily tugged on her hand. "Come back and see us soon, okay, Sammi?"

"I will," Sammi promised. "Be good for your parents."

When they were in the car and heading back toward the city, Tommy reached over and took her hand.

"Had fun?" he asked, even though he already knew she had. She smiled at him, realizing he was probably more apprehensive about the meet than she'd noticed before.

"Lots of fun," she replied, squeezing his hand. "Your family is great."

"Is that why you said you'd come to Ithaca?" he asked her quietly. "Or because you felt peer-pressured?"

"I _want_ to come," Sammi said sincerely. "Really and truly I do. I'm in." The wide grin she got in return took her by surprise and for a minute she was lost in how great his smile was.

"Good," he said. "That makes me happy." That made _her _happy and she could only smile back at him.

They drove along in silence until they neared Bloomfield. Sammi bit her lip and smiled to herself. If she had anything to say about it, the night wasn't over yet.

"You should probably just come over to _my_ place this time," she said, the fingers of her other hand stroking over his. "Since I obviously can't trust you to keep proper track of my time."

He glanced over at her. "You might be right about that," he said quietly, his voice sounding a little deeper somehow. "Just to be on the safe side, of course."

When they arrived, Sammi hopped out of the car and hurried to stand at the door, waiting for Tommy to catch up with an impatient look.

"What's the hurry?" he asked with a smirk.

In reply, she grasped his waist and pulled him toward her, pressing up on her toes to reach him. In heels, she never had to stretch so far but their height difference always struck her when she was flat-footed. She brushed his lips with hers, in the way he always did to her, smiling when she felt him lean into her a little more. Silently she turned around to unlock the door, and pulled him inside after her. His hands stayed on her waist as he followed her up to the third floor. When they reached her door, she turned around to face him again and he gave her a little push until she was pressed against it. He moved in until his body was completely flush with hers and took the lead in kissing her this time. He sucked gently at her bottom lip and Sammi found that she had to restrain herself from the sudden urge to wrap her leg around the back of his thigh.

"Unlock the door," he whispered against her lips, and with a tremendous effort, she pushed away from him to turn around and unlock the door. When it was open, he followed her inside and shut the door, making sure to lock it. She dropped her bag on the couch and stood still, watching him and wondering what he was going to do next.

He turned back around to face her and advanced. She sucked in a surprised breath when he scooped her up off the floor into his arms and carried her back to her bedroom, pulling her face toward his again to take her mouth deeply. Her arms and legs wrapped around him automatically and a surge of thrilled anticipation went through her at his boldness. The familiar throb of desire crept between her legs as he stepped into her bedroom. He tossed her onto her bed and then crawled over her, deftly pushing her blazer off her shoulders before he pressed her down onto her back. He held his weight over her on his arms as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she fisted into his T-shirt tightly as she frantically kissed him back, feeling overwhelmed with lust.

His fingers untangled from her hair and slid down her side and over the front of her hips. He pulled away from her long enough to brush his fingers over the button and zipper of her shorts, meeting her gaze for a moment. She couldn't nod, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stare at him and breathe raggedly. He took her silence as affirmation and slowly unbuttoned her shorts before pulling the zipper down. He paused again, gauging her reaction and didn't miss the way she bit her lip. His fingers hooked into the waist of her shorts and he slid them down over her hips and then down her legs. She helped him a little by pulling her knees toward her chest and out of the leg holes. Her heart was pounding from a mixture of nervousness and excitement, the way it always seemed to lately. Tommy had twice touched her between her legs, but he had never removed clothing from her body before, and somehow, it made the situation all the more intense.

He tossed her shorts gently to the side and leaned over her again, teasing her lips with his tongue to entice hers to come out and meet his. She obliged him and pressed up on her arms to meet him, to try and kiss him back as deeply as she could manage. He balanced his weight on one hand while the other slid underneath her shirt, over her smooth skin. His hand brushed over one of the cups of her bra as his lips moved to her neck. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, marveling at how her arousal ratcheted even higher at the feeling of his full, firm lips moving all over her throat.

She gradually became aware that his lips were moving lower and lower, pausing in the hollow of her throat before moving down her upper chest. He pushed her shirt up to her ribs and moved his mouth to the skin of her abdomen, kissing a soft line over each set of ribs before moving down to her belly button. She froze, positive that he wasn't about to do what it seemed like he was about to do.

She was still up on her elbows, watching him, as he lifted his head and met her eyes again. He hooked his fingers into the sides of her lace bikinis and she held her breath, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest, so hard she thought it might burst, and felt her eyes go wide as he inched her panties down over hips like he had her shorts. She was so caught off guard she couldn't help him this time, so he moved her legs for her to get her panties off of them, and then slowly pulled her thighs apart. She was completely dumbfounded and speechless as he gently pressed a hand to her chest, directing her to lay flat on her back.

She stared up at her ceiling in the darkness, her eyes wide, shaking as she felt his warm breath against her core. Part of her wanted to get off the bed and run and the other part didn't want to move from this bed for the rest of her life as long as he was in it with her. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, to not do what he was obviously planning to do, and the other part ached to lift her hips to meet his mouth first. She was just about to open her mouth to tell him she wasn't sure about it, that maybe he should stop, when she felt his lips brush the inside of first one thigh and then the other, trailing his lips over her flesh the way he did when he kissed her. For an instant she felt nothing else except his warm breath, and then, in a sensation that made her almost leap off the bed, the tip of his tongue slowly moved up the slit of her core, parting her velvety soft, thick flesh, before he drew her tiny pearl into his mouth and sucked.

She gasped, louder than she meant to, and gripped her bedding as she felt him pause again. She felt his nose brush the side of the inside of her thigh, almost as though he had tilted his head to kiss her flesh the way he would her lips, and then she felt the warmth and wetness of his lips and tongue as he dug gently into her flesh. Her eyes involuntarily rolled back in her head as the overwhelmingly pleasurable sensation consumed her. Her core throbbed and tingled from the sensation his mouth was evoking inside her as he continued to slowly devour her warm, wet folds as though he were enjoying a decadent, lusciously sweet dessert.

She did not have a great deal of experience with oral sex; she had been on the receiving end only a few times during her college years, and that had been it since then. Her memory was a bit foggy, but she was quite certain that none of her previous lovers had ever made her feel the way Tommy was making her feel right now.

She let out a strangled gasp when his tongue burrowed inside of her, pulsing gently as he tasted her from the inside. It was a strange sensation but one that was incredibly pleasurable. She hadn't been aware she'd been writhing against his mouth until she heard a low chuckle erupt from his throat and he took a hold of her hips, keeping them firmly in place before his mouth.

"Stop squirming," he whispered in the darkness, the heat of his breath sending ripples over her flesh as the tiny pearl at the top of her center began tingling intensely with pleasure. He'd been leaving it alone for a little while as he explored her inner walls with his tongue, but it had started to ache from lack of stimulation as she grew more and more aroused and she knew that as soon as he returned his mouth to it, it wouldn't be long. She couldn't lie flat anymore so she propped herself up on her elbows to watch him.

As though he read her mind, he withdrew his tongue from her depths before lapping the flat of it directly up and along the slit of her center, before pulsing his tongue over her pearl as his mouth closed around it, warmth enveloping her as she let out a soft moan. His lips closed around it and as he suckled, he swirled his warm, moist tongue over it, sweeping back and forth, and after only a short moment, Sammi felt a hot, tingling heat slowly creep through her core as her climax began to settle over her. It was deliciously slow and lingering, and she felt every single tingle and explosion as they happened. Her head lolled back as her hands first splayed open flat against the bedding and then fisted into them tightly.

"_Shhhhhhit_," she hissed quietly, punctuating the curse with a moan as her entire body trembled and shuddered. She squeezed her eyes shut and couldn't help from rolling her hips, pressing herself against his mouth as he continued to lick her slowly. Her now-sensitive center jerked and twitched from overstimulation and she tried to pull away, but he grabbed her hips again and slid his tongue back inside her. She whined at the sensation, wanting it to stop and also to go on forever as her chest heaved.

Finally Tommy pulled his mouth from her and he moved up the length of her body, his chest sliding against her abdomen as he pulled himself up to her. His lips hovered tantalizingly above her mouth and she stared at them for an instant before she lunged. He caught himself, bracing his weight on his forearms against the violence of her attack on his mouth and hurried to catch up with her as she voraciously took his lips. She could taste herself against his full, fleshy mouth and on his tongue and she was surprised to discover how sweet she tasted. She sucked against his tongue and as he unconsciously rolled his hips into hers, her feminine ego and vanity were stroked when she felt his arousal pressing against her. He'd tasted her, and he'd loved it.

As she continued to feast on his mouth with her own, she reached for his shirt and hiked it up just enough to grab at his belt. He held still, kissing her back almost absently as he was distracted by what she was doing. Deftly she pulled his belt apart and moved her hands to the button of his jeans.

"Sam," he whispered against her lips, feeling her pop the button open and start to tug on his zipper. "You don't have –"

"Shut up," she whispered back. She slid her tongue into his mouth to hush him while at the same time, she finished with his zipper and drew her legs up to hook her toes into his waistband and pull them down a little. Her hand reached for the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs.

"Sammi," he said again, a little louder this time. "You –"

This time, she bit him and with a little grunt of pain, he went quiet. She immediately licked the place on his lip where she'd made a little wound, soothing it. Then, she used one hand to pull his waistband away from his body. The other hiked her tank top up to her ribs, exposing her stomach, before sliding down his muscled stomach, rigid with the effort of holding himself up, before moving smoothly inside his underwear and taking him in hand.

She heard him suck in a breath through his nose as her hand encircled him. She let out an involuntary, soft moan as she gauged his size; his girth had to have been at least two inches, and as her hand moved snugly down his length, it felt endlessly long. She slid her fist back to the top, swirling her thumb over his tip and feeling it was moist from her touch already. She realized that they were now just holding their mouths together instead of really kissing, both intent on what she was doing.

She continued to stroke him, massaging up and down his length with her hand encircling him tightly. She felt his shuddery breaths against her skin as he pulled his mouth from hers to bury it into the flesh of her neck. Her hand caught a rhythm as she moved over him, feeling his length and hardness grow impossibly. She jumped when she felt his fingers between her legs suddenly, and she moved down his length again, he slid two fingers inside her, the movement easy because of her wetness. He moved his fingers in and out of her, in time to the strokes of her hand against him.

The experience was unbelievably erotic as Sammi lost herself in the feeling of him in her hand and his fingers inside her wet depths; it was like they were having sex without actually having sex and part of her wanted to line him up at her opening and let him slide inside. But what they were doing now was deliciously torturous and would make her yearn for the actual act even after they both found release.

She felt his hardness swell up, giving new meaning to the term "rock hard" as his breathing hitched in his chest. He tried to pull away from her hand, but she refused to let him go.

"Sam," he breathed in her ear. "I'm about to –"

"Just do it," she moaned back in a whisper. "Please."

A moment later, she heard him let out a short, soft groan, his body shaking slightly, the noise rumbling deeply in chest and she felt a sudden pool of warmth over the flesh of her stomach. The sensation of it and the knowledge that she'd made him climax, combined with the ministrations of his large fingers still working inside her, sent her toppling over the edge right after him. For the second time, she came, gasping against his mouth as she felt her own fluid gush out of her and over his hand while her body shook and her muscles contracted.

He was still holding himself up on his forearm and he carefully shifted off of her, rolling onto his back as he caught his breath. He glanced over at her, his eyes flickering toward her stomach.

"Sorry about that," he said, his voice deep and low in her ear. "I'll grab a towel out of your bathroom."

"It's okay," she replied, her hands searching over the bed. She found the lacy material of her panties and used them to wipe his seed off her stomach. She thought she might feel grossed out, but she found she didn't mind it at all. She glanced up and saw that he was watching intently. She half-smiled shyly.

"What?" she asked. "I just didn't want you to have to get up."

"No," he said. "It's just – I should probably not find that as hot as I did."

"What?" she asked. "Which part?"

"All of it, now that you ask," he said. He ran his fingers over her now-dry stomach. "But the sight of you usin' your panties to clean yourself up…"

Sammi was thankful for the darkness in her bedroom as it masked her blush. Before she could think of something to say in reply, anything, he leaned over and slipped a hand around the back of her head, pulling her close to kiss her slowly and sensuously. She latched around his bottom lip and sucked at it, remembering the nip she'd given him.

"Sorry," she said when she pulled away. She brushed his lip with her fingertips. "I got a little carried away. I just wanted you to shut up and let me do what I wanted to do for once."

He laughed softly. "Well, it worked," he replied, rubbing at his lip.

"Why do you always seem to put up a fight when I want to touch you back?" Sammi asked quietly, her cheeks flaming in the dark. She wasn't used to having intimate conversations with anyone; in fact, she considered herself to be a bit of a prude when it came to discussing the topic of sex, even with a lover.

Tommy sighed. "I just don't want you thinkin' that I'm doin' anything to you because I need you to do somethin' back," he replied. "I just wanted to make _you _feel good. To know that it _can_ be that way. I'm guessin' I'm the first person that you've been with since…the attack."

Uneasiness seized her instantly, but she shut her eyes for a moment and shoved the flashbacks that threatened to overtake her to the back of her mind. She took a deep breath and blew it out before replying.

"Yes, you are," she said softly. "And…you've done a good job at making me feel great." Her hand crept slowly toward his on the bed. "So great, that it makes me _want _to make you feel great, too. And – I want to know that you _want me _to make you feel great." She laughed at her awkward phrasing as she intertwined her fingers with his. "This may come as a shock, but I _did_ sort of enjoy sex once upon a time. That part of me just kind of went numb after – after what happened."

"_'__Sort of_ enjoy sex'?" Tommy repeated, his thumb stroking over the back of her hand lightly.

"Well," she said, feeling embarrassed again. "I mean. It was _okay_. I haven't been with that many people so I guess my range of experience is limited. You're the first person to make me –" Her cheeks burned and she cleared her throat. "That is, I haven't been with anyone who –" She was getting flustered.

Tommy laughed at her softly and tugged on her arm, pulling her against him. "Then I'm _very _glad I could be of service," he said into her ear, his lips brushing her jaw.

"Me, too," she murmured back, her eyes closing against the tingles erupting on her skin. "I'm glad you let me touch you finally."

"I didn't really have a choice," he replied, "if I wanted to keep my lip." He snuggled into her neck as his arms tightened around her. As she felt his breath warm her flesh, and a feeling of complete satisfaction settled over her like a warm blanket, she thought she was ready, more than ever, for everything Tommy could bring her.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Wow - sorry about the formatting of the last chapter, guys! That was practically unreadable. I've fixed it now. Thanks!**

**Chapter 25**

The week somehow managed to both breeze by and creep by at a painfully slow rate. Sammi felt eager anticipation at the impending trip out of town to Buffalo and also a great deal of anxiety.

She found herself busy at the café, as Bunz had spent a few days at home with the flu, and in between stopping in to check on her best friend and bring her hot homemade vegetable stock and loaf after loaf of Italian bread, every moment of her spare time was devoted to her dance. Having perfected it to her own critical eye, she was now in rehearsal mode. She had always suffered from horrible stage fright, and she wanted to be able to execute the dance effortlessly, perfectly, in her sleep, so that muscle memory would take over once she was on stage and she could compartmentalize her stage fright.

Bunz was back at work on Thursday, the day before Sammi was set to leave. As she went through the motions of the day, slightly less busy since she didn't have to put in extra-long hours to do the baking and run the front, she realized something.

She hadn't thought of the trial at all this week, and not much more in the previous weeks.

She wasn't sure what that meant – did she no longer care? Was she so afraid and anxious about it she blotted it from her mind?

All she knew was that she had the letter she'd received, the official subpoena, telling her to be at the New York City Criminal Court on Monday at nine o'clock in the morning.

Be there or be square.

That evening, though she knew she needed to be packing for the weekend, she lay on her back on her couch, Rocky curled above her on back edge of it, staring at the ceiling, and thought long and hard about the trial. She made herself think of what it would entail, envisioning herself sitting on the mahogany chair on the witness stand next to the judge as she told the jury exactly what Jackson James had done to her almost a year ago, in detail. And he would be sitting there across from her, with his horrible dark, almost demonic-looking eyes, remembering what he'd done as he listened to her, too. She wondered if it would affect him at all, then, with disgust, realized that if it did it would probably just turn him on.

His defense would cross-examine her, trying to poke holes in her story. Or maybe they'd realize there were no holes to be poked, and would insist that the man was out of his mind, hadn't known what he was doing.

He'd known.

He _was_ out of his mind; of that, Sammi was sure and wholeheartedly concurred. However, he had known exactly what he was doing when he'd spent almost half a day raping her, brutalizing her, beating her, making her beg for mercy and plead for her life, ripping into her soft flesh with his teeth and his hands and his weapons. A memory of the absolutely _agonizing_ pain she'd felt, pain that she'd never before experienced and prayed to God that she would never experience again, washed over her and she could feel it like she could feel it back then, ripping over her skin, tearing down to her bones, making her wish she actually would die, just so it would stop and she would be free of his torture.

She forced herself to think of all these things, curious in a detached way about her physical and emotional reactions. It was like she was studying herself, and she thought long and hard about the way her stomach clenched up and a feeling of incredible dread washed over her. Her heart rate increased and she could feel it everywhere she had a pulse on her body. Her breathing increased and shook and involuntary tears stung her eyes as her entire body clenched up and shuddered.

She thought of her bottle of anxiety medication, on her kitchen counter, untouched since the day she'd stopped taking them, when Tommy had first come over for dinner – the night he'd learned of her terrible secret. It seemed like so long ago. She wanted one. She wanted the whole bottle. Anything to make these feelings of sheer panic and anxiety go away and leave her. Anything to make her stop feeling like she was about to lose her life at every moment; that every stranger she looked at was plotting against her, making plans to rip her flesh apart and leave her for her family to find.

As tears squeezed out of her tightly shut eyelids, she struggled to draw deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling loudly as the intakes of air shuddered between her dry lips. She felt an ache in her knuckles and realized that her hands were clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. In fact, she realized her entire body was tight and wound up with stress. She forced herself to relax, concentrating hard on making each muscle relax, one at a time. The exercise took a very long time, but when she was complete, she felt a small measure of peace.

Next to walking out of the hospital and being in public, around people – _enemies, _as far as her shattered mind was concerned– for the first time after the attack, she knew the trial would be the hardest thing to date she'd ever have to do. But she was determined to do it. Even if it killed her, even if she broke down on the stand, even if she passed out or lost her mind – she'd do it. She'd never forget what Jackson James had done to her, the lingering damage he'd caused that would haunt her probably for the rest of her life, the reminder as her sisters continued to bear children, and their children bore children, that she never would be able to do the same, because he'd taken that from her. She'd be damned and no better than him if she didn't testify just because she was scared, and as a result he got off and did it to someone else. It had to stop with her. It _would _stop with her.

Having devoted all the energy and emotion she could tolerate to those thoughts, her mind shifted to Ithaca. To Tommy.

Curiously, she felt more twinges of anxiety as she thought of it. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to think about her attack just prior. For a moment, Tommy was just a faceless male body with brute strength that would tear her to pieces if he so chose.

But then she pictured his face, and the smile he'd given her in the car when she'd told him she would go with him. She thought about the way his eyes had lit up and crinkled at the corners, and the way both sides of his mouth had curved upward into a genuine smile of pleasure. Seeing him smile, _really_ smile with his whole mouth, was so rare that she had never really noticed it before. She had always figured he _would _have a nice smile – he was a beautiful man, after all. It made sense. But seeing it, _really _seeing it, feeling its warmth and basking in its glow, watching as it completely transformed his face, accepting that it was directed at no one but her, _caused _by no one but her – it had almost taken her breath away. And the owner of that smile, that face, would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt her. Of that, she was certain. She was safe with him.

Dimly, she realized she was calm now. Her heart beat was at a normal rate. Her breathing was relaxed, deep and even. Her muscles were no longer wound up and tangled tightly in themselves. In fact, she was smiling faintly. The thought of his smile had made her smile. The thought of _him_ made her smile. She also realized she missed him. This was do-or-die week for him, she knew. She'd stayed out of his hair all week other than stopping by the gym a couple of times to bring him something to eat. He'd been gentle and sweet with her like always but she could tell his mind was on business, and she respected that. They'd talked on the phone each day, and sometimes they would text each other into the evening, but not too late, because she knew he needed his rest. He'd been going hard this week, pushing himself, increasing his workouts, sparring every single day with whoever would take him on, watching the film of his potential opponents obsessively to memorize their fighting preferences, their strengths, their weaknesses. She'd never known anyone to be so devoted to anything, and she couldn't wait to see his hard work pay off. There was no way he couldn't win. She'd secretly begun to think of him as "Superman."

As the noise of Rocky's sleepy purrs and snores met her ears from above her head, she glanced at the clock on her cable box and was dismayed to see how late it had gotten. She still hadn't packed for the weekend _and _Monday's trial. Tomorrow was a press day in Buffalo, Tommy had told her, and the press kick-off started at noon but he wanted to check in at the hotel they'd be staying at first and get settled. That meant that he'd be picking her up at eight o'clock the next morning. Paddy would be driving up with Brendan and Tess later on. Colton Boyd, Tommy's manager, was already in Buffalo, awaiting their arrival. He'd been the one Tommy had contacted to get her an extra pass to the fights and a hotel room close to Tommy's. He'd told Tommy he'd make sure he saw to Sammi's every need and want while she was there, the best of the best treatment for the best fighter at the tournament. Sammi had heard this herself since he'd been on speakerphone in Tommy's office and she'd rolled her eyes at Tommy. The words had been so dramatic and Sammi was sure all that meant was that she could get coffee when she wanted it and maybe a front row seat. Tommy had just smiled back at her.

She wasn't really sure what one wore to an MMA tournament. She'd been so unsure, in fact, that she'd looked at clips on YouTube to gauge her options. She had been amused to see that most of the girls there were dressed pretty scantily. She assumed they were not officially affiliated with any of the fighters but had aspirations of becoming affiliated with their beds later on, if they were lucky. She saw endless amounts of cleavage, bottoms hanging out of skirts and short-shorts, figures encased in super-tight dresses. It was laughable.

She selected several outfits for the tournament. She figured she could have a little fun with her choices without going overboard or being boring. Then, she sighed to herself as she picked out a somber black skirt suit and a crisp white blouse and plain, low-heeled black pumps for the trial. She folded the items carefully and placed them in her bag, wishing she didn't have to pack them at all.

She packed a small toiletry bag but left it out of her duffel bag, knowing she'd still need it the following morning. When she felt she had everything in order, or as much in order as it was going to be, she called to Rocky softly. After a moment he came loping into her room and jumped on her bed. She followed suit and let out a long sigh as weariness settled into her the way Rocky settled into the crook of her arm, his back curving against her chest and stomach. Before she knew it, she was asleep.

:O:O:O:

Tommy pulled up to Sammi's apartment complex the next morning. He hopped out of his car and buzzed the secure-entry door. After a moment he heard a click of the door unlocking and pulled it open. He took the steps to her apartment three at a time and rapped lightly on the door when he reached it.

She opened the door and greeted him with a smile, her dimples digging into each cheek as she looked up at him. He could never resist the sight of them, and returned her smile. She was dressed in an old Clash T-shirt, expertly ripped and shredded, and she wore skinny jeans with black sequined Chuck Taylor sneakers. He thought she looked like a cute little London punk, the toughness of her outfit offset by her sweet, happy smile. She always seemed so genuinely glad to see him, and it always made him feel great.

It was a feeling he wasn't quite used to yet.

She had a couple of bags to maneuver, a large duffel bag and a tote bag, plus her purse. Tommy shouldered the large duffel bag and couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"You do realize this is just a weekend thing?" he asked as she locked up behind them. "We're not going away for a week."

She gave him an odd look. "I'm aware," she replied. "Can't you tell? I'd have _so_ much more if it were longer than three days." Her face clouded slightly. "Well, four, I guess."

Tommy thought of the trial, and noticed the stress that came across her face, and leaned in to kiss it away. Her brow immediately smoothed as she focused completely on him, as he'd intended and hoped.

"Come on," he said lightly. She followed him down the stairs and out of the building. She helped him load her bags in the car and then he opened her door for her. Her face brightened at the sight of the steaming cup in her cup holder.

"Is that for me?" she asked when he got settled behind the wheel.

"That's for you," he replied, starting the engine and pulling off. "So who's taking care of Rocky? Since your family is coming to New York on Monday."

"Well, my mom is going to come by and feed him every day until Monday," she replied. "Since my dad doesn't like cats and won't let her bring him over. Then she's just going to load him up with food on Monday before they leave. He'll be okay for a day by himself." She leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat and smiled at him. "Why, you worried about him?"

Tommy shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "No way. I just wanted to make sure you'd have your little buddy to come home to, that's all."

She laughed and sipped her beverage. "Sure. It's okay, Tommy. You can love him."

He grunted in reply, unable to keep a smirk off his face. He made it to the interstate in due time and settled in. It would be about two and half hours to Buffalo.

Sammi stretched in her seat and ran a hand through her thick dark hair, bringing it over one shoulder. He kept his eyes on the road but sensed from his peripheral vision that she was looking at him.

"You seem so focused," she commented, sipping her latte again. "Are you feeling pretty good about this? Nervous at all?"

"I don't really get nervous," he replied. "The only time I felt any nervousness was right before I fought Brendan because I know what a beast he is. But even then I was just so pissed off that I just pushed it away. I'm honestly looking forward to it being _over_."

"Really?" she asked. "You don't enjoy it?"

"I mean, I do, I guess," he said. "Because I'm good at fightin'. It's what I do, it's how I make my living. But the whole thing with these tournaments, the interviews, the press, the pictures, the televised fights. It just sort of makes it all seem so…Hollywood. At the end of the day we're all guys who just want to do our best, make our living and get home."

"Only one of you gets to make a living, though," Sammi pointed out. "Right?"

"Well, only one of us gets the purse," he conceded. "Sometimes managers can work it out so that their fighter gets a percentage of the ticket sales."

"Did yours?"

Tommy shook his head. "I don't do any of that," he replied. "I make enough from what I do on a day-to-day, and I'm considering some endorsement deals."

"If you win the purse, what'll you do with it?" Sammi asked.

Tommy gave her a sidelong, playfully sly look. "Why? You plannin' to steal it from me or somethin'?"

"Trust me, sweetheart," she retorted. "I do not want your money."

"What if I could make all your dreams come true?" he teased, but he was thinking of her studio.

"Then I'd be paying you back every red cent," she answered, giving him a stern look. "Enough about that. Answer the question."

"Well," he mused. "I'll be giving some to Pilar. For the kids."

"Manny's wife," Sammi said.

"Yeah. I've sent her enough so far to get trust funds started for them. Manny would want them to go to college. I'm hoping I can win this purse and get the funds set up fully for them, give her something to live on comfortably. Then I guess I'll invest some of it. I don't really have any debt or anything. Maybe put some of it into the gym."

"That sounds responsible," Sammi commented. "Speaking of Manny, I saw the memorial you have for him – and your mom – in your apartment."

Tommy shrugged, feeling instantly uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"I think it's nice," Sammi said sincerely. "To remember them that way."

She was watching him again. He nodded in reply.

"Do you…do you pray at it a lot?" she asked. "What's your faith, anyway?"

He let out a short bark of laughter. "I was raised Catholic, if that's what you mean," he replied. "My faith these days, though, is skepticism and anger."

She tilted her head. "Why?"

Tommy sighed. He really didn't want to get into any of it, but she'd given him so much of herself that it was only right. "I haven't – I haven't made peace with losing Manny, or Ma," he replied quietly. "I'm workin' on it, but I don't feel it yet. I guess I just feel let down by God. By life."

"Let down how?" she asked softly. He knew she wasn't contesting him; just probing for more information and better understanding.

"My mom was my rock," he said simply. "Then she was gone. Manny was my rock after her. Lost him. Growing up, I had an old man that beat the shit out of me and Bren. Bren had always been my rock, too – then he chose Tess and bailed. Or at least that's how I saw it then; I understand a little better now. I mean, I don't dwell on this shit. But when you've lived with it for so many years – it gets hard to shake."

"I can see that," Sammi said with a nod. "I totally can see that. When you experience nothing but disappointment and loss you start to question whether anyone 'up there' gives a shit about you anymore. And if they don't give a shit about you…why should you give a shit about them?"

He glanced over at her, and met her gaze. For the first time, he felt truly understood.

"What about you?" he asked. "Your faith? I'd think you'd be the most skeptical and angry out of anyone."

"Oh, I have faith," she said with a decisive nod. "A lot of faith. I believe."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, feeling a mixture of grudging admiration and disbelief. "How's that?"

She shrugged. "Don't get me wrong. When it first happened I was angry and skeptical like you. Constantly shaking my fist at God and demanding to know why me. After a while, I _had _to take on a new perspective, or else I would have killed myself." She glanced at him again. "Not joking. It's unbearable to live life feeling like you're cursed, like you have nothing else to live for, that your quality of life is just _gone._ I had to do some serious soul-searching and eventually, I decided that I had to start thinking in terms of reason. Everything happens because of a reason." She paused carefully. "You going through what you went through with your father happened for a reason."

"And what reason is that?" Tommy asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

"Because you were strong enough to handle it," she replied simply. "Look at you. You've been through some hard times and you've made it through each and every one. You're successful and healing from your wounds. You've got a loving family."

"A slightly fucked up family," he countered, although he knew he wasn't exactly being fair.

"I wish you could see your father through an outsider's eyes," she said. "Like mine."

"And what do you see?" Tommy asked her, glancing at her before turning his eyes back to the road.

"I see a kindly old man," she replied. "I see a man who has been through struggles of his own, who's had a hard life too. I see him wanting desperately to atone for his mistakes from the past. I see him loving his sons, his family. His granddaughters. I see someone who's trying to be _better_. I wish you could see it too."

Tommy had never thought of it exactly how she had phrased it, but hearing it now allowed him to get a glimpse of the man Sammi had met – not the one he'd grown up with.

"You're different," she went on softly. "You've changed. What makes you think he can't, or hasn't?"

Tommy remained silent, but her point struck home and she knew it.

"Do you feel like your attack happened for a reason?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes," she answered. "I do."

"And what's that?"

"Again – took me a while to get here. But I feel like it happened and I survived it because I was meant to stop it." She smiled wryly. "I know that sounds really weird and cheesy. But I feel like, I walked away from the attack when no other woman did. That means something. I had to live to be the one to end it. That's the only reason why I'm testifying on Monday. I _have _to do it; there's no other choice. I have to do it and save some lives that maybe he would have ended up taking if I didn't testify, if he got off. I believe I was meant for more in life than to just be a victim." She smiled, genuinely this time, and briefly touched his arms. "And so are you."

He glanced at her again, and removed his hand from where it rested on the automatic gear shift and took her hand. They drove on that way in silence for a while before Tommy thought of something.

"You still taking your meds?" he asked, then shook his head. "Sorry if that was random. I was just thinking about things."

"It's okay," she said. "And no, I'm not taking them anymore. Although sometimes I want to. But I don't want to be a pill-popper."

Tommy could certainly relate; his experience with pills was recent enough to allow him to know precisely how she felt.

"What made you stop?" he asked. "I know you have panic attacks and get anxiety still."

"I do, but not nearly as much." She cleared her throat and glanced out the window. "Actually, you have a lot to do with that."

He looked at her in surprise. "How do you figure?"

She bit her lip but he saw a dimple suddenly appear like magic in her cheek. "I don't know," she hedged. "It's just – you've made me feel _different_. Like I can look people in the face again, that I don't have to be scared that I'm about to be raped and murdered every time I leave my house. You've made me comfortable with being me and…_living._" She met his eyes quickly, her cheeks pink. "I – I _trust _you. Do you know how nice it is to feel like I can trust another human being again?"

"I'm glad," he replied quietly, sincerely. "I trust you, too."

She cleared her throat once more but looked at him, leaning her head back again. "I've felt real happiness for the first time in almost a year, Tommy. It's because of you."

He squeezed her hand. He didn't really know how to respond; these kinds of conversations were so alien to him. He'd never imagined he'd be having this sort of talk with a woman. "I'm happy, too," he said, still quiet. "I don't think I've _ever _really been happy. But I feel it now."

She smiled, and something else occurred to him to discuss with her too, since apparently now they were getting all feelsy.

"So, what is this?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the road. "You and me. What are we doin' here?"

"What do you mean?" she responded, but her voice was low and shy.

Tommy couldn't believe his own level of discomfort, but one of them had to bring it up. "I mean, us," he repeated. "Are we…together? Are we friends? Are you just usin' me for my charm and money?" He flashed her a quick grin, but it belied the authenticity of his true feelings and insecurity. He'd had "girlfriends" in the past, but he'd never had anyone who made him feel what he was feeling for Sammi, and certainly no one he could ever fully trust the way he did her.

"What do you want?" she countered softly.

"I asked you first," he said. "Just tell me. You want to be with me?" He kept his eyes on the road.

There was a long silence, long enough to worry him, and he glanced over at her. One of her hands was still holding his, while the fingers of the other were delicately gripping her forehead. She was pink, but she was dimpling down at her lap, biting her lip.

"What?" he asked softly. "Answer my question, Sam."

She sighed exasperatedly. "I don't…I don't know how to do _this_," she said, waving her free hand in frustration.

Tommy was genuinely confused. "Do what?"

"This," she insisted, gesturing between the two of them. "Like…I don't know how this is supposed to go. Do I play games? Do I answer your question straight-forward? Are you testing me? If I say yes are you gonna stop liking me and will things get weird between us?"

"We're not teenagers," Tommy pointed out gently. "I'm not into playing games. I'm asking you straight up. Now answer me."

She sighed again. He felt her eyes on him but kept his straight ahead. Her hand tightened around his and she breathed out, "Yes."

"Yes, you want to be with me?" he barked, more harshly than he meant. He almost felt as if he was wearing his NCO hat again and talking down to a private.

"Yes," she said simply. "I want to be with you."

Finally, he did look at her and her face was _still_ pink, but she was smiling. She looked away after a minute and bit her lip, shaking her head.

"So, now what?" she demanded. "How does this work?"

"Now, nothing," he replied. "We just live our lives and keep making each other happy. Except you get to officially boss me around now."

"I always boss you around," she retorted.

"Right, but now I'm obligated to actually listen," he shot back. He smiled over at her again, then tugged her closer for a kiss.

Another comfortable silence befell them before Sammi spoke up again.

"Did you ever decide if you were going to pick a song or not?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I did think about it, and I even found one I liked," he answered. "But it's not really me. I'm no frills. Let me just get in the ring, handle my business, and get on with life. It's already a stretch to get me to agree to take pictures but, I signed an agreement. It didn't go over well at Sparta that I skipped all that shit."

"I see," she replied. "A photo shoot, huh?" She wiggled her eyebrows playfully.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What about _your _song?" he asked. "You gonna let me get a little preview? At least play the song for me?"

She thought it over. "Well, okay," she said shyly. "I'll play the song for you. Do you know Linkin Park?"

Tommy nodded. "Haven't listened to them in a while, but when I was younger, when they first came out, they were my favorite band."

"This is from 'Minutes to Midnight'," she said, pulling her music up on her cell phone. "It's called 'Leave Out All the Rest'."

He listened to the song as she looked out the window. It was an emotional heavy ballad about seeking atonement for past wrongs; begging to be remembered for the good things rather than the bad. As the strains of the song drifted away, he nodded.

"That's a good song," he said. "Can't wait to see your dance. Any chance of a preview for that?"

"Absolutely not," she replied, putting her phone away and smiling. "You'll just have to wait on pins and needles like everyone else." She meant the last part to be sarcastic, but he brought her hand to his lips.

"I am," he promised. "I'm sure Rosie and Em will want to come. Is that okay?"

"Are you serious?" she replied. "Of course!" She paused. "Well, I mean, yes. It's okay. I just have really bad stage fright and the chances of me messing up with a lot of people present that I know makes it worse."

"_How_ long have you been dancing?"

"Like…twenty-four years. But still – each and every time. I always get really queasy and sweaty."

"That's…attractive."

"I know," she said. "Let's not forget that I've seen _you_ covered in sweat on many occasions."

"But that turns you on," Tommy said teasingly, flashing her a charming smile. He noticed her eyes darkened slightly and her lips parted before she quickly looked away. "_Does_ it?"

"Maybe a little," she replied, glancing at him. Her eyes were still dark and slid down his body before looking away again. She smiled out the window.

Tommy turned his eyes back to the road, but smiled to himself as well. He had a feeling that Ithaca might turn out to be more interesting than he'd hoped.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone. Thank you for the reviews! Please enjoy.**

**Chapter 26**

Sammi's eyes widened as she followed Tommy into the lobby of the Hyatt-Regency Hotel in downtown Buffalo.

Already there were crowds of people gathered, holding signs, cameras, pictures. Tommy had pointed out a couple of the other fighters he'd recognized to her and they were signing autographs for enthusiastic MMA fans. Tommy ignored their calls to him and shouldering both her large duffel and his own, he walked straight to the check-in counter.

The fans were a mixture of all kinds of people; all races, genders, and ages. There were middle-aged men wearing tournament T-shirts, teenage boys, entire families.

There were also women. Lots and lots of women.

They weren't shy, either; much like the women at the gym, they were painted and dressed in tight, revealing clothing. They were beautiful, they were gilded and fake, and they were, apparently, horny. They called the names of the other fighters they recognized. They called Tommy's name.

They looked at Sammi like she was gum on the bottom of their shoes.

She felt, saw, and heard their laughter, their pointing, their whispers. Their eyes glided from her purposely raggedy punk T-shirt to her jeans to her sneakers. They towered over her in their heels and their fashion-forward club-wear.

"Is that his chick?"

"She's a mess. I hope not."

"Maybe just his fuck-buddy for the weekend."

Sammi heard this exchange among a few of the mavens standing nearby and stopped in her tracks, glowering openly at them. They simply stared back, one of them looking at her innocently, one of them ignoring her completely to call out to Tommy again and one of them laughing at her.

"Sam," Tommy called over his shoulder. Sammi turned and joined him at the counter. He looked down at her. "Ignore them," he instructed her quietly. "Okay?"

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled, glaring over her shoulder again.

"Mr. Conlon, I have one suite and one deluxe room," the desk clerk was saying. "The reservations were arranged by Mr. Colton Boyd – I trust that your accommodations will be satisfactory for you."

"How close are the rooms?" Tommy asked.

"I have both the suite and the deluxe room on the sixth floor, and they are three rooms apart." The clerk slid them their keys and smiled. "I can have someone bring your bags to your room, if you'd like to go refresh yourselves at the bar."

"No, we've got it, thanks," Tommy replied. He took the keys and shouldered the bags again and headed for the elevator bank. Sammi trailed behind, beside herself at the amount of fans that were in the lobby.

When they were in the elevator she turned to him. "Aren't you gonna sign autographs and stuff?" she asked. "You don't want to get a rep for being stuck up. A lot of them are here to see you."

"I don't mind signing stuff for kids and the guys and families," he said, "but I don't like taking pictures with groupies. I wouldn't put you through that. They tend to get really…handsy."

"Oh," Sammi replied, frowning again.

He laughed at her and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Don't worry."

"About what?" Sammi demanded. "I'm fine."

Tommy smirked. "Okay."

He brought her bag into her room after she unlocked it and stepped inside. She was pleased; it was a nice room, spacious, trendy. The bed looked beyond comfortable and she had plenty of room. Tommy placed her duffel on her bed and glanced at his watch.

"I have to be at the Niagara Center in half an hour," he replied. "It's not too far. Do you want to come with me or stay here? It can get kinda long. I have to officially check in, take some pictures. It should go faster since I'm not doing interviews but Colt is gonna handle that for me. By the time we're done Pop and Brendan and Tess should be here. I think they wanted to go to dinner or something tonight. They said they'd be here about five or so but that they'd let me know for sure later."

"That's fine," she replied. "Is your dad staying with you?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"I'll stay here," Sammi said. "I didn't get a ton of sleep last night, and I'd like to wash the car ride off anyway. And if you let everybody know I'm here, I can meet them in the lobby and give your dad the key to your room. We'll just hang out here in the meantime until you get back."

"You sure?" he asked. "I don't want to leave you alone. You'll get bored."

"I'll be in my room," she reassured him. "I'll be fine."

"All right," he said, then pulled her against his body to kiss her goodbye. As always her skin jumped at his touch, and the kiss went on longer than a normal goodbye would have. Finally she pushed at his chest gently, smiling up into his face.

"Go," she said quietly. "Don't be late."

He smoothed a hand over her head and brought his lips to hers once more before he backed out of the room and left.

Sammi sighed and kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jeans. She crawled into the immensely comfortable bed, making sure to set the alarm on her cell phone for a reasonable amount of time. She knew she could easily oversleep without it.

It felt like only a moment later when her alarm went off. She felt around for her phone and silenced it, then groaned, yawning and stretching. She glanced at her phone again and saw she had a message from Tommy letting her know he'd gotten in touch with his family and they would be arriving by five. He planned on returning shortly thereafter. It was half past three now, so Sammi knew she'd better get a move on.

As she gradually became more aware of her surroundings, she started to hear loud noises from outside. She climbed out of bed and moved to the window, and was shocked to see a throng of people outside. They were being held back by several tall, burly security types and a line of young men, buff and tattooed, dressed in trendy athletic wear, filed into the hotel. She assumed that they were other fighters for the tournament by the way they stopped and signed autographs and took pictures with fans. And not too much further away were several more groups of young, scantily clad women, smiling and calling out to them. Sammi tilted her head with interest as she watched the fighters respond. _It's going to be loud in here tonight_, she thought crossly, noting the way cellphones were pulled out and numbers exchanged.

As she studied the girls, and the attention they were receiving, she wondered what Tommy thought of them. He'd often referred to them as "groupies" and today had even told her not to worry about them. But that was because he was a nice guy. Sammi knew he cared about her so naturally he wouldn't want her to feel uncomfortable in any way. But he was also still a man, and what man wouldn't respond to tits and ass being shoved in his face every time he turned around?

Her hand dropped away from the curtain as she turned back into the room, deciding it was time for a shower. Her mind turned to the issue of sex between, or rather, the lack thereof. Granted, it wasn't like she was making Tommy wait years and years. And he certainly wasn't pressuring her – in fact, based on their last encounter, she felt like she was the one who pressured him. But she wondered how long his patience with her would hold out before he either _did_ try to pressure her, or decided she wasn't worth the wait any more.

She knew she was loosening up substantially regarding the idea of sex – sex with Tommy, that is; the thought of sex in general still made her skin crawl a little, but when she pictured it with Tommy, she felt warm and her lower stomach and pelvic area would tingle and tighten up. She wasn't really sure when she would just _know_ she was ready to get back in the saddle, so to speak, or if it even worked that way. She just hoped it would be soon before he got fed up with her and left her for someone else, someone more willing.

As she showered she thought of the three girls who had openly laughed at her that morning. They were painted and primped, perfectly put together and looked like models in men's magazines. Sammi shook her head, mostly at herself. And she'd thought it was a good idea to go trudging around after someone like _Tommy_ in a ripped '80s T-shirt, jeans and Converse sneakers…

Sammi made up her mind once she was out of the shower and staring hard at herself in the mirror. She'd have to put all of her unease aside. She was twenty-seven, after all, and it was time to put her big girl panties on and show Tommy just what he'd been missing, and why she was the top, the _only_, candidate. She knew she was rusty when it came to her sex technique, but she figured she'd be fine; she was a dancer, after all – she knew how to move her body in such a way that would please him if not herself.

As she rifled through her suitcase and removed a lacy thong, she decided. Tonight would be the night.

:O:O:O:

After a shower and a change of clothes, Tommy felt like a new man after an irritating and exhausting afternoon of dealing with the press, taking photos, and getting briefed on the weekend to come.

He'd received some messages from Sammi letting him know his family had arrived and she was keeping them company in the hotel bar. When he'd pulled up to the hotel on his arrival back from the arena, he was completely dismayed to see the fanfare that was posted up outside the hotel – throngs of people were outside and mingling with the fighters who were coming and going. Most of them were utter douche bags who were slicked and gelled, manicured, wearing rhinestone embellished V-neck shirts showing their chest hair. They were eating up the attention from the women, the groupies, and Tommy knew if he walked through them it would take him forever to get away from them.

So, he'd driven around to the back of the hotel near the garage where the valet kept the cars, and waited until he spotted a valet attendant. He waved him over, seeing the attendant's eyes widen in recognition.

"Hey," the young man had said, grinning. "You're the One-Hitter-Quitter."

"It's actually just Tommy," Tommy had replied flatly. "Listen. I'm not tryin' to deal with that bullshit around front, man. Can you let me in through the valet entrance? I just want to go up to my room. I got my family here."

"Sure," the attendant had said, nodding vigorously. He pointed at the car. "You want me to take care of that?"

"That'd be great," Tommy had answered, and let the attendant park the car. The attendant had reappeared to open the entrance door for him and Tommy had slipped him a nice tip before disappearing inside and using the service elevator to get to his floor, managing to bypass all of the nonsense outside completely.

Now, he was forced to enter the lobby again, noticing that there were a good number of people milling around. A lot of them were young women, more hangers-on, and though they were with some of the other fighters, whom he ignored, they eyed him openly. He scanned the room for his family, looking to find them and get the hell out of there as fast as possible.

The first thing he saw was Tess's tousled blonde head, where she stood at the bar just in front of his brother. He saw his father drinking what looked to be sparkling water or soda, and then he saw Sammi and his eyes widened slightly.

He didn't know why he'd expected to still see her in her ripped up T-shirt and her Converse, but the first place his eyes went to was her rear end. It was set off to perfection in a pair of tight, ripped skinny jeans. Tucked into the jeans she wore a simple, ribbed black tube top that hugged her trim abdomen. To add a touch of modesty, there was a leopard print scarf draped around her neck, hanging down to the middle of her stomach. As he got closer his eyes slid to her feet, seeing them encased in black, peep-toe pumps decorated with a long gold zipper on the outside edge of each shoe, stretching from toe to heel. Her long dark hair had been coaxed into waves and tumbled down her back. It was a simple ensemble but it set the shape of her body off to perfection and Tommy couldn't help thinking she looked good enough to eat.

Everyone glanced up as he approached, but his eyes were glued to Sammi. Her dimples suddenly dug into her cheeks as her brown eyes lit up at the sight of him. It filled him with that strange but pleasant feeling, one that made him feel like she always seemed to be so excited to see him. His hand automatically went to circle her waist as he greeted his family, Brendan surprising him with a hug. He returned it awkwardly.

"You guys ready?" he asked, desperate to get out of the hotel and away from all of the prying eyes. His hand unconsciously tightened on Sammi's waist.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Brendan replied. "I'm starving." They used the hotel transportation to head to an Italian restaurant a few miles away.

Once they arrived and Tommy could see that there were just average people, families, in the restaurant, he relaxed, and they had a good time together, all things considered. Tess and Brendan bemoaned how much they were missing the girls, even though they'd been looking forward to getting away. Rosie and Emily were staying with Tess's family. Brendan asked him how the afternoon went, and Paddy wanted to know how he was feeling in terms of the fights the following day. Tommy answered their questions but was getting distracted because every so often, under the table, Sammi's hand would find his thigh and squeeze. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't behave any differently, but he had to suppress the urge to jump every time she did.

Suddenly, he was eager to return to the hotel.

Unfortunately, Tess and Brendan weren't quite ready to call it a night. They didn't get away from the girls very often, they said, and they wanted to have a few drinks before they retired for the night. Paddy bid them a goodnight and retreated up to the suite he was sharing with Tommy, leaving the group of four in the now-empty bar.

"Wonder where everyone went," Tess mused after they got their first round of drinks. Tommy opted to drink water, but Sammi was having a glass of red wine.

"Probably out," Tommy replied with a shrug. "Wherever the other fighters went."

They stayed and drank at the small table for a while, talking and laughing quietly amongst themselves. As she had at the restaurant, Sammi would run her hand over his leg intermittently. At one point he met her eyes over the rim of her wine glass and felt blood rush through him at the look in her eyes. They were dark with some kind of need, full of promise.

He wondered if Paddy would end up with the suite to himself tonight.

Finally, Tess and Brendan were ready to call it a night, rising to their feet. Tommy and Sammi bid them goodbye and watched as they headed to the elevators around the corner. Tommy glanced at Sammi.

"You ready, too?" he asked, trying hard to keep the note of eagerness out of his voice.

"Haven't finished my wine yet," she replied, her voice slightly low. "Have a seat."

Tommy sat and watched as she drained the rest of her wine, her hand on his knee. His eyebrows shot up as he wondered what exactly had gotten into her. She couldn't be drunk; she'd had a total of three glasses of wine over the course of several hours and had eaten a full meal as well. He didn't have long to think about anything, though, because as soon as she set her glass down, she was reaching for him, pulling his face toward hers, capturing his lips with hers, pushing and pulling and sweeping over his mouth with hers. Tommy wasn't a huge PDA sort of guy, but he very quickly forgot about the fact that they were in public, empty though the lounge was.

She pulled away ever so slightly. "Take me upstairs," she whispered before she brought her mouth against his again.

Tommy pulled back a little and looked into her eyes, feeling his own narrow involuntarily. He scanned her face, knowing something was up with her. His desire to call her out on her bullshit warred with his desire for her. Silently he rose to his feet, taking her hand and pulling her up after him. He held onto her hand as they waited for the elevator. After an eternity, the light above the elevator lit up and the doors slid open slowly. He stepped inside, pulling her behind him. As soon as the doors slid shut, he decided to simultaneously give into his own urges and also call her bluff. He quickly pressed her against the wall of the elevator and cupped her face in his hands, scooping up her lips with his own as he pushed his body against hers. He pulled the scarf away from her neck and tilted her face up to bury his lips in the flesh of her throat as her hands grabbed at his waist. He returned to her mouth and sucked at her lips, feeling like he just couldn't get enough.

When they reached the sixth floor she led him out of the elevator, her scarf trailing in her hand. She pulled him past his room and headed down a little further to hers, and then pushed him against the door and captured his lips with hers again as she fumbled in her pocket for her key.

Finally, he pulled away and gripped her face. He lowered his face to look into her eyes, feeling his narrow with slight suspicion again.

"Sam, what's goin' on?" he asked. "What's gotten into you?"

She looked up at him innocently. "What are you talkin' about?"

"I'm talkin' about you acting all bold right now," he said bluntly. "And please, for the love of God, understand I'm not complaining but I don't think you give me enough credit for bein' able to tell when something isn't quite right."

"It's a problem?" she asked impatiently, lifting an eyebrow.

"It is if I feel like you're doin' this to try to prove something."

"Maybe I just want you," she growled in her throat, pulling herself up toward him again.

"And if I believed that's all it was I never woulda opened my mouth in the first place," he replied against her lips. "But we both know it's not just that, so what's up?"

Sammi paused near his face and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she sighed and pulled away slightly.

"All right," she conceded, a hint of irritation in her voice. "All right. First, just know that I _do _really want you. But I just…seeing all of those beautiful women out there who seem like they have it all together just made me wonder, why are you wasting your time with me? I work at a café and teach ballet at the Y. I'm more than a little fucked up in the head –"

"Shut up," Tommy said, annoyed. "You're not fucked up in the head. Stop saying that shit. As for all of those other women – Sammi, you're talking about women who validate themselves by climbing into bed with any guy they think can be a ticket out for them. Are you fucking serious right now? You call _that_ having it all together?" His hands moved to her shoulders and he gripped down, shaking them just a little. "I'm here with you because I _want _to be. Period. I don't want anyone else." He shook his head. "Is that why you're trying to have sex with me now?"

Sammi flushed and sighed, looking away. "Partly because I want to. And partly because I feel like if I don't you'll get fed up with me and find someone who doesn't struggle so much with that."

"I only want you when you _only_ want me, no other reason. I'll wait as long as it takes," he replied simply. "You copy?"

The corners of her lips tugged into a tiny smile. No dimples, he noticed, but it was better than nothing.

"So we done with this dumbass shit now?" he went on quietly, smiling a little to take the sting out of his words.

One side of her mouth stretched a little wider, and he saw a shadow appear in her cheek. "Yes," she answered.

He smirked at her and slid a hand under her hair, gripping it lightly. He brought his lips to hers. "Just don't make me wait _too _long," he teased gently. She rolled her eyes but pressed her lips against his, sucking gently at his bottom lip. He had just taken a firmer grip on her to feast on her mouth more deeply when he heard a voice.

"Yo, Tommy. Sorry to interrupt…"

Tommy glanced up, a growl of annoyance in his throat, and saw Colton Boyd striding down the hall toward them, a slightly amused and apologetic look on his face.

"What you want, man?" Tommy demanded, his hands slipping down to grip Sammi's waist loosely as she stepped away from him slightly.

"I want you to go get some sleep," Colt replied, folding his arms. "You got a big day tomorrow, man. C'mon. Keep your head in the game."

Tommy sighed. He knew what he was supposed to do as well as anyone; the plan had been to _not _get caught by his sometimes-trainer-manager.

Colt turned his slight smile on Sammi. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but our boy needs his rest. He's got a lot of fights tomorrow."

Sammi bit her lip, her face flushed from being caught. "Right. I got it."

Colt lingered until Tommy glared at him. "Can I get a minute?" he demanded. Colt rolled his eyes and gave them his back, pacing a few steps down toward Tommy's suite. Tommy knew that Colt would stay out there all night to make sure that Tommy eventually went to his own room. He sighed and glanced down at Sammi.

"Sorry," he murmured. "He'll stay out here all night if I don't –"

Sammi half-smiled and placed a hand on his chest. "It's all right. Go. You need your rest."

There was not much else to say, nothing that he wanted Colt to hear him say, anyway, so Tommy just looked at her and half-smiled, running a hand slowly through her hair.

"Go," she said, more insistently. "Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He leaned down to give her a final kiss, a goodnight kiss, and then pulled away. His body screamed in annoyance, but he knew he didn't have much of a choice. And, frankly, he did need the rest.

"Good night," he said softly. She smiled and stepped inside her room, pausing to blow him a kiss before she shut the door.

Tommy turned and walked back toward his room. Colt glanced over his shoulder, grinning.

"I trust that you can keep yourself inside your room tonight?" he asked, mock-sternly.

Tommy gave him a withering look. "Fuck you, Boyd."

"I'll take that as a yes," Colt said, waiting until Tommy had unlocked his door and stepped inside. "Sweet dreams, brother!"

Tommy shut the door in his face and rolled his eyes in irritation as he heard Colt laughing at him all the way down the hall.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry so long without an update. I've got TWO for you today because I'm sorry and I appreciate you :-). Excuse the typos, and enjoy!**

**Chapter 27**

When Sammi woke up the next morning, her stomach was a jumble of nerves.

She wasn't sure why but all morning she felt extremely anxious at the thought of going to the First Niagara Center for day one of the tournament. Tommy had allowed Paddy to accompany him to the arena as he prepared for his first round of fights. He had left early that morning to ensure he had plenty of time to stretch, hydrate, eat, and in general "Zen" himself, as he called it, before he took to the ring. He had knocked on her door that morning to let her know he was leaving. Sammi had wanted to say something encouraging, give him words of wisdom, something really deep and profound for him to ruminate over while he prepared himself, but all she could manage was a lame, "Good luck."

Now, later that afternoon, she was showered and dressed and in the lobby of the hotel, too nervous to eat a late lunch in the hotel's on-site restaurant. Tess was eating a chicken Caesar salad and fruit, and Brendan was enthusiastically attacking a giant bacon cheeseburger and fries. Sammi sipped at a cup of tea and nibbled a little of the fruit salad that she'd ordered.

"You seem nervous," Tess commented. "He'll be fine."

Sammi wanted to tell her it wasn't just the prospect of witnessing the fights. While she wasn't particularly enthused about Tommy going to war with overly aggressive men who wanted to bash his face in to better their chances of winning a couple million dollars, she knew and was confident that Tommy could handle himself. She decided she was more bothered by the fact that she just didn't know what to expect or how she would react to it, but she simply didn't feel comfortable expressing that to them.

"It'll be fine," Brendan was saying. "You understand these types of tournaments?"

Sammi shook her head. "Not really. Tommy tried explaining it to me once but it sort of went over my head."

"Okay." Brendan pushed his plate aside. "So you have sixteen guys, right? So the first bout today will be the first round of eliminations, essentially. Each of the sixteen guys will be paired up with another fighter. Eight of the guys will advance, eight of the guys will have to pack their bags and drag their sorry asses back home." He smiled when Sammi dimpled a little at that. "Then tomorrow, the second bout will be the eight guys from the day before; they will battle each other – four proceed, four go home. Then, those four will be matched up. The rounds are going to be longer. The final two, then, will face off and then whoever wins, takes all."

Sammi nodded. "So how long is each round? There's going to be so many fights today."

Brendan nodded. "Right. So in the first bout, meaning the first set of fights today, the eight fights are going to be three five-minute rounds. Then tomorrow, the first bout of fights, the four matches, are going to be three five-minute rounds. Later, the second bout will consist of five three-minute rounds and the very last bout that determines the winner will be five five-minute rounds."

Sammi's eyes had started to glaze over but she shook her head. "Right. Got it. Lots of fights."

Brendan grinned at her. "Lots of fights, Tommy wins all. That's all you need to worry about."

Tess glanced at her watch. "We should probably start heading over. We don't know which card Tommy's going to be put in so we don't want to miss anything."

Sammi nodded and reached for her purse, intending to pay for her mostly untouched lunch. Brendan stopped her with an outstretched hand and a wry look, shaking his head. He dropped some cash on the table for all of their meals and rose.

"Thanks," Sammi said with a smile. "I owe you a beer or something."

"Make it two," he replied. "Let's go, ladies."

Sammi noticed that Brendan drew almost as much attention as Tommy had the day before; occasionally people would call out to him or stop him for an autograph, which he graciously always acquiesced. Sammi also noticed that the groupies, those of whom had elected _not_ to join the other flocks and head to the First Niagara Center early, eyed him flirtatiously. Sammi sighed as she took them in; even at three in the afternoon, they were in tight and/or short cocktail dresses and heels.

Sammi had pored over her own outfit for the day, finally deciding on fuchsia denim skinny jeans, rolled at the ankle, a plain, scoop-neck cropped white camisole and a heather gray lightweight knit blazer. She'd been torn between flats and heels, and finally opted for the gray and silver subtle snake print peep-toe heels that would give her a little lift; at five-foot-four, she often easily got lost in the crowd.

"Hey, sweetie," one of the girls called to Brendan as they passed. Tess just shook her head and laughed, but Sammi stopped in her tracks.

"Really?" she demanded, glaring down to where the speaker was seated with a couple of her friends. "Do you not see him here with his _wife? _Really?"

"And that makes you, what?" she replied, smirking. "The baby-sitter?"

"That's that girl that was with Tommy Conlon yesterday," another girl spoke up, giving Sammi a pointed head-to-toe. "Glad you put the ratty T-shirt and dirty sneaks away, honey."

"Hope you don't mind sharing," the third girl at the table spoke up. She was the prettiest of the three, and she smiled condescendingly at Sammi. "'Cause I'm about to snatch that boy right from under you."

"Sammi, let's go," Tess interrupted loudly, noticing the way Sammi's eyes darkened with anger and her face began to flush. "You ladies have a nice day."

"Tell him hi for me," the third girl called after Sammi as Tess pulled her away.

"Ugh!" Sammi growled as she and Tess caught up to Brendan. "How do you stand that?"

Tess shrugged. "It was really hard at first. But you just get used to it. Honestly. If you just ignore them, they'll stop."

"Thanks for the third-grade lesson," Sammi said sarcastically. "Somehow I doubt that works with them. I think knocking their teeth down their throats would be more effective."

Tess smiled and gave her a little squeeze. "Jealous, much?"

Sammi scoffed but didn't otherwise reply. Her blood boiled and she was annoyed she hadn't had the opportunity to let the young ladies know precisely what she thought of them. But she didn't want Tommy to make the news because his girlfriend was starting fights over essentially meaningless insults. She was an adult, after all, and she _was _Tommy's girlfriend. She smiled at the thought, and felt considerably calmer.

"Ah, the groupies," Brendan said, sighing with mock-wistfulness until Tess punched him lightly in the bicep. "Those were the days." He laughed and ducked her next swing, then caught her arm and hauled her into his side, planting a loud kiss on her. "Just kidding, baby. You know you're the apple of my eye."

"Apple of your eye?" Tess repeated wryly, unable to hide a smile. "No wonder you never get the girls, saying shit like that."

Sammi couldn't help laughing at them, trailing slightly behind as Brendan insisted on walking with both arms wrapped around Tess's waist. They were met outside by a stretch Hummer limousine.

"What the hell is that?" Tess asked.

"Hey, you guys!" a loud voice called, and Colton Boyd leaned out of the opening door. "C'mon. Let's go see our boy get it _in!"_

Sammi eyed the extravagant vehicle before catching a look of annoyance on Brendan's face. She knew if Tommy were here, he'd throw his hands up and insist on walking rather than ride in the outrageously over-the-top luxury transportation. Brendan seemed to be of a similar mindset.

"Hotel shuttle would have sufficed just fine," he called back, a slight edge in his voice.

Colt shrugged cheerfully. "This is how the big-time do it, bro. Get in!"

Brendan sighed but pulled Tess after him, and Sammi trudged after them. She let Colt help her inside, ignoring the little grin he gave her as he gestured to a leather seat.

"Sleep well?" he asked pointedly.

"Not well enough," she shot back.

He smiled and shrugged. "I don't make the rules," he said mildly.

"So how's he doing?" Brendan asked.

"Good. You know how he is. The strong silent type. More like moody. Anyway. He's doing fine."

The ride to the Niagara Center was short and Sammi thought the limo would stop in front at the main entrance where floods of people were gathering, waiting to be let inside, but it drove around to the back of the center. She started to relax a little, glad they seemed to be able to bypass any real crowds.

Her relief was short-lived and dismay filled her when she saw there was a horde of people at the back entrance.

"Press entrance," Colt informed them. "Well, press _and_ groupie entrance. Security can't keep 'em away technically, they can only keep 'em back. They know this is the place to be since all the fighters come back this way."

"Why are we allowed to come through here?" Tess asked.

Colt shrugged. "It's also the friends-and-family priority entrance," he replied. "You can get to the dressing rooms and to the entrances to the floor, for ring-side seating, much easier this way." The limo pulled to a stop and he reached for the door. He looked at Sammi. "Brace yourself."

She stepped out after him and waited for Brendan and Tess to follow. In the next instant she was overwhelmed with shouts for their attention. Brendan was instantly recognized and security stepped forward to help their little group past the small but seething crowd.

Somehow, she found herself separated from the group as three reporters converged on her and shoved tape recorders and microphones in her face.

"Who are you?" one of them demanded. "Are you with Colton Boyd?"

"What?" Sammi said. "No! He manages my boyf –"

"Tommy Conlon," another reporter interrupted. "He manages Tommy Conlon. Are you Tommy's guest?"

"Something like that," she responded, trying to step away from them and rejoin her group. She couldn't even see them anymore; only several tall security guards.

"Are you his girlfriend?" the third reporter demanded. "Tommy Conlon has a girlfriend?"

"Sam!" she faintly heard Brendan call. She ducked away from the reporters and tried to push through the crowd.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" an angry female voice said. Sammi glanced over her shoulder and saw another group of women. "If _we _can't get in, you damn sure can't!"

"You _that _desperate for the dick?" another woman asked, laughing.

Sammi glared at her and turned back around. She locked gazes with a guard.

"Please," she called. "I'm supposed to be in there."

"That's what they all say," he replied. "Nice try, though. You might want to come at me with a tight dress next time."

"Keep moving, Mr. Boyd!" she heard. She tried to peek around the security guard.

"Colt!" she shouted. He glanced over at her, then turned away quickly. She watched him call out to a leggy blonde and trot after her. "Colt!" she screamed again.

"Oh, now she actin' like she know folks," another woman said, and several voices laughed at her.

Sammi felt a confusing mixture of rage and anxiety start to build in her. Now she was feeling hands pushing at her back, shoving her against the security guard, who was turning to glare down at her. Did they not see her get out of the limo with everyone? Why wouldn't they let her through?

"I'm with them!" she insisted, pointing vaguely in the direction Colt, Brendan and Tess had gone. "They're probably still there, waiting for me. Can you please check?"

"We had security move them along," the guard replied. "Sorry, miss. We can't allow you back there."

"I drove here with them!" she said angrily.

"I didn't see you before," he said skeptically.

"I'm here with Tommy Conlon," she said, hating having to resort to using his name. "He's fighting in the tournament."

"Yeah, I know who Conlon is," the guard said, rolling his eyes. "Half these groupies out here are for him. I never heard nothin' about him havin' a guest."

"I _am_," Sammi pleaded. "I came with his brother and his brother's wife. And his father. And his manager! Just let me through, please."

"How you know him?" the guard said, folding his arms and looking at her in disbelief. "You can't be no girlfriend. I never got your name."

"Just ask Colt," Sammi said, growing more agitated as the swell of jeering voices behind her rose. "He was supposed to put me on some list or something!"

"Well, Boyd is long gone now," the guard said. "We took Brendan Conlon and his wife that way. Boyd went the other way." He gestured into the arena over his shoulder.

Sammi clapped a hand to her forehead, trying to calm herself before she exploded. How the hell had things gone to shit in the matter of seconds? _Someone _had to have seen her get out of the limo; why was no one speaking up?

Suddenly, she lost her footing and almost fell over when a foot sharply kicked her heel out from under her. She tottered violently until the guard grabbed her arm.

"Get your ass back there where you belong, you dumb bitch!" one of the women shouted at her.

Sammi lurched forward as she was suddenly pelted with an extremely hard object; a frozen water bottle was hurled violently into her back at short range before crashing to the cement. She was shocked at both the gesture and the immediate pain it caused against her tender flesh; she felt like she'd just been hit with a baseball. She whirled around to see who had thrown it, intent on slapping them to the ground, when the guard grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

"Hey, knock that shit off!" the guard bellowed at the women. "Try that shit again I'll have your loose asses locked up! Then ain't _none_ of y'all gettin' none tonight!"

Sammi's chest was heaving with rage when the guard turned back to her. "Listen, I don't believe your story for one second, but are you all right?"

"Just call Boyd!" Sammi shouted, jerking her arm free. "Call Tommy. I'm telling you, I'm with _them!_ This is bullshit!"

"I've got Boyd on his cell now," another security guard with an earpiece said with a sigh. "Hold on." He listened for a moment. "He's coming down now with Conlon."

Relief washed through her, but it was short-lived as the women nearby just screamed at her more. She felt shaky and angry; she couldn't believe she was dealing with this. If this was any indication as to how the rest of the tournament was going to be, it wasn't off to a good start.

"I don't know who this hoe thinks she is," one of the women called. "Bringing her ass to the front of the line like she's running shit."

"She ain't shit," another woman said with a laugh.

"Bring your ass back over here, honey," a third voice called out. "I got somethin' way worse than a bottle of water for you."

"Shut the fuck _up_!" the security guard bellowed at them. "Every last one o' you. You're fuckin' lucky I can't call the cops over here to arrest your asses. Someone say something else. I will mace _all_ of you, right now, just for fucking pissing me off!"

"Sam!"

She heard his voice and turned quickly. Tommy stood just behind the barricade, dressed in his tournament shorts and a hastily thrown on ribbed tank top. He looked furious. She hurried toward him, ignoring the rise in noise as both the groupies and the reporters immediately started shouting to him, demanding to know who Sammi was and if she was his girlfriend. Every sound was threatening to crack her nerves but she focused on his angry face and rushed toward him.

"Conlon, this you?" a guard demanded, catching her by the shoulder just before she reached him and pressing her back.

"Yeah. Now get your fuckin' hand off her," he snarled, reaching out to take her by the elbow.

The guard quickly complied, lifting his hand immediately. Before Sammi could figure out how to navigate the hip-high barricade in her tight jeans and heels, she suddenly felt her breath whoosh out of her lungs in surprise and vertigo assaulted her as Tommy grabbed her around the waist and bodily picked her up, swinging her over the barricade like she weighed nothing more than a child. Her feet had hardly touched the ground before he immediately swept her away down a long concrete corridor.

Colt trailed behind them, sensing Tommy's rage. Tommy was silent, but the way his hand locked around her waist and his tightly clenched jaw let Sammi know he was infuriated. She winced a little as his hand pressed down unknowingly on her developing bruise from the water bottle. He looked down at her, seeing it, and his eyes narrowed. She swallowed, feeling a little intimidated. He turned her around a corner sharply and she almost tripped again but he swept her along, holding onto her firmly until he came to a long hallway lined with doors. He stopped in front of one with a sheet of paper taped to it that bore his name and turned the handle. He pushed the door open and Sammi saw that it was a small dressing room. He shoved her gently inside and stepped in after her. Sammi had enough time to register that Paddy, Tess and Brendan were in the room, all looking agitated and worried. Their faces relaxed when they saw her, but Sammi turned to look at Tommy.

His brow was creased with fury and his jaw was still tightly clenched as he turned around, holding the door. Colt tried to step in after him but Tommy blocked the door.

"C'mon, man," Colt said in a wheedling tone. "It was an accident."

Tommy opened his mouth and snapped it shut, glaring. He finally spoke. "You had _one_ fucking job," he said, his voice deadly low. "_One_. You were supposed to look out for my family."

"Mistake, man," Colt went on. "We lost her in the crowd, I thought she was with Bren and Tess, I didn't –"

"You didn't give a fuck!" Tommy raged. "You left her to deal with those fucking assholes so you could go chase some ass for tonight. Do you know what could have happened?"

"Tommy, look, I'm sorry," Colt said. "Sammi – we're cool, right?"

"She gets the best of the best, right?" Tommy asked, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"Tommy –"

"You're fired," Tommy bit off. "Get the fuck out of here." He slammed the door in Colt's face and resumed pacing.

"Sammi, are you okay?" Tess asked. "We tried to come back for you but the guards kept moving us this way. We just got here and told Tommy you were left behind."

"Colt wasn't even looking for you," Tommy muttered. "When I got out to the entrance he was just coming back from the other way, talkin' to some chick." He shook his head and glanced at Sammi. "You good?"

"I-I'm okay," Sammi said, not wanting to say otherwise. Her nerves were rattled and her blood pressure was up; her back ached with the onset of a bad bruise from having the water bottle thrown right at her at close range. But none of that would help him calm down and focus on the fight, so she forced a smile for him. He didn't return it, and instead, his eyes narrowed.

"Tommy, you sure that was smart, son?" Paddy asked quietly from the corner. "He's a good manager."

"Fuck Boyd," Tommy replied. "I asked him to do one thing which was take care of my family. If he can't do that then he doesn't have my best interests at heart, so _fuck_ him."

Paddy nodded, studying his son before he glanced at Sammi. "You okay, sweetie?"

"Yep," Sammi said brightly. "Just fine. All's well that ends well." Tommy was openly glowering at her now, so she shifted uncomfortably.

"All right. See, Tom? Sammi's good. She's fine. Why don't you three go take your seats, get a drink or something and I'll work on our prize fighter here –"

"I want to talk to Sammi alone," Tommy said evenly. "Can you guys wait outside, please." It wasn't a request.

Once they were alone, Tommy shut the door behind them and turned back to Sammi. She foolishly felt like she was in trouble for something.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Which part?" she asked hesitantly.

"All of it. How did you get separated from them?"

"I was following Colt and I got separated in the crowd. Then these reporters surrounded me and it took a second to get away from them. By the time I made it through the crowd to the front, I'd lost everyone. Then the guards treated me like I was just a groupie, and then the groupies were trying to start shit with me…" She trailed off and shook her head, taking a deep breath. "But it's okay. Right? You came and got me."

"Anyone touch you?" he demanded.

"I mean, the girls pushed me around a little. I wasn't trying to get in a fight and make you look bad, though."

"Pushed you around?"

"No big deal," she repeated. "The only thing I regret is not breaking all of their noses."

"Why did you act like I hurt you earlier?"

Sammi blinked. "Huh?"

"When I had my hand on you. You flinched."

"Oh," Sammi said. "Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about _what_?"

Sammi sighed. "It's just a little sore back there."

"Sore _why?_"

Sammi sighed again. She hadn't wanted to tell him but she could sense he was quickly running out of patience. She shrugged. "Some girl right behind me threw a water bottle into my back. It was mostly full, and frozen, and she was close range."

He reached out and closed a hand around the waistband of her jeans and pulled her forward, spinning her around. "Let me see."

He pushed her jacket to the side, all he had to do since her midriff was mostly exposed in her cropped tank top, and looked at her back. "Jesus."

"What?" she asked, trying to twist around to see it herself. She flinched again when he lightly brushed his fingers over the area. Even the slight touch made the very sore, tender skin cry out in pain. She bit hard on her lip, and he didn't miss it.

He frowned at her, then maneuvered her over to the mirror on the wall. He spun her around slightly and pulled her jacket to the side again. Sammi gasped, shocked to see the area was already swollen and red, turning dark purple in some areas. She cleared her throat and met his eyes in the mirror. She laughed weakly.

"I bruise like a peach," she said. "This is not as bad as it looks."

"Oh, really?" Tommy asked, and brushed his fingers over the area again, a little more firmly than before but still not remotely hard. Sammi yelped in pain and jumped, instinctively trying to pull away from his touch. He moved his hand away from the bruise quickly and replaced it on her waist, tugging her closer. He glanced into her eyes then shook his head and sighed.

"I promised your dad you'd be okay, and we haven't even started the tournament yet and already you've gotten into some shit."

Sammi brought her hands to his shoulders and shook them gently. "Tommy, it's fine. No big deal, just some mean, hateful girls who are jealous." She smiled at him as he glanced up at her. "Most of them were out there to see you, I think. It really burned their butter when you came to get me." Her smile widened.

He lifted an eyebrow. "'Burned their butter'?" he repeated. "Where are you from?"

She laughed and leaned in to lightly kiss his lips. "Listen, I'm sending Paddy back in here. I'm going to go grab a brew and a seat with your brother and his wife. Okay? I'm ready to see some ass-kicking."

He shook his head and grunted a laugh at her. "A brew and some ass-kicking. All right then." He tightened his hands around her waist and pulled her closer so he could get a real kiss. "Get out of here. I'll talk to you later."

Sammi sent Paddy back in, and followed Brendan and Tess through the seeming maze of concrete hallways through the arena. They stopped to buy beer, and true to her word, Sammi purchased two large pints in plastic cups for Brendan. Since they were guests of one of the fighters they were able to take seats close to the ring. Sammi noticed it was really more of a circular, tall black wire mesh cage.

They had just seated themselves when a press reporter ambled over to them, wearing a "Press" pass on a lanyard around his neck and holding a smartphone and a notepad. His eyes were glued to Brendan as he leaned over Sammi to grab his hand.

"Brendan Conlon!" he said enthusiastically as Brendan shook his hand politely. "Great to see you! How come you're not on any of the cards tonight?"

"Hey, Marty. Wasn't quite ready to get into this one," Brendan replied calmly. "I've sort of had my fill for big tournaments for a while."

"So just here to cheer your brother on, huh?" the reporter asked. "How are things between you guys?"

"Is this on or off the record?" Tess interrupted, looking at the reporter pointedly.

"Off the record," the man insisted but he wore a falsely innocent smile. His eyes slipped to Sammi. "And who is this?" he asked, reaching for her hand. "Lovely lady."

Sammi wasn't sure if she should answer; she was instinctively suspicious of the man but didn't want to seem paranoid. She shook his hand tentatively.

"I'm Sammi Car –" she started to say, until Tess leaned over abruptly and wrapped a hand around Sammi's wrist, tugging it out of the man's hand gently.

"She's with us," Tess said curtly.

The reporter lifted his eyebrows at the feisty blonde and looked amused. "Okay, then. Well, mystery lady. It was nice to meet you. Brendan, Tess. You guys have a good one." He gave Sammi a long look before he finally turned and walked away.

Sammi was creeped out. "What's his deal?" she asked Tess.

Tess shook her head in annoyance. "That's Marty Brown. Don't talk to him. He's a vulture. He was the one who was responsible for leaking out Tommy's real identity to the press and also his location, leading the JAG over here to take him into custody after Sparta. He just goes after whatever he can and doesn't give a shit about any of the lives he touches."

Sammi nodded, looking thoughtfully after him. She supposed she needed to watch out for him in the future.

:O:O:O:

The tournament was several fights in, and Sammi was exhilarated. She had no idea she'd come to enjoy watching MMA fights as much as she was right now. She was working on her third pint of the cheap arena beer; she suspected that might have something to do with it. She wasn't sure when Tommy was supposed to be fighting, but there had been five fights so far. She had realized shortly before the start of the tournament that the press box where the two commentators had set up shop. As a result, she could hear everything they were saying and she had to roll her eyes occasionally. All they did was argue amongst themselves about their opinions on the fighters and shout and ooh and ah when the fights were taking place.

Suddenly the lights dimmed again and some heavy metal song started playing as the announcer began to call forth one of the next fighters. Sammi listened hard but she couldn't make out his name. A punk-looking solid young man began dancing down the aisles. He had a mohawk and his arms were each covered in a sleeve of tattoos. He seemed to be incredibly amped up as he slapped hands with fans on his trek toward the cage.

The lights dimmed a little again and this time, Sammi was able to hear the name that was being called because there was no music playing. Her stomach clenched in excitement as she heard, "Tommy One-Hitter-Quitter Conlon!"

_He is not going to like that_, Sammi couldn't help thinking as she strained to catch sight of him. She finally saw him, wearing a black sweatshirt, the deep hood pulled low over his head as he made his way to the ring. Fans, male and female, screamed, and sudden movements caught her eye as signs bearing his name, some with hearts, rose into the air.

But he acknowledged none of it, solely focused on getting into the ring and "going to work", as he liked to say. He was close enough to see clearly now, perhaps twenty feet away from their seats, and he quickly stripped off his sweatshirt and handed it to Paddy, who trailed behind him. Sammi held her breath as he entered the ring, and allowed herself a moment to admire his smooth skin and his taut muscles. He shoved his mouth guard in and focused intently on his opponent.

When the match began, he held back, waiting to see what his opponent would do. The young man flew at him with a series of lightning fast kicks and punches. Tommy deflected and side-stepped his blows, not concerned, not worried, just focused in that intent manner. This continued on for a few more moments; Sammi knew he was studying the young man, getting a feel for his style, before he ended it quickly.

The young man launched another kick, toward Tommy's head. Tommy lashed out with an arm, winding it around the man's leg and pulling it in tight to his side. He blocked a flailing, startled punch from the other man before sending his fist directly into the middle of the man's face. His opponent's head flew back and he crumpled to the mat, sliding out of Tommy's grasp.

"That's how it's done!" Brendan shouted jovially, pumping his fists in the air. "That's right!"

Sammi cheered loudly, drawing the attention of one of the commentators seated in the box in front of her. It wasn't the first time they'd studied her. They always smiled, always waved or gave her some polite acknowledgment.

As Tommy made his way across the ring, she heard them.

"Seated directly behind us, Bryan, is the family of Tommy Conlon," one of the men was saying. "We've got his father Paddy helping him out, but his brother Brendan, who he famously fought and lost to at Sparta late last year, is in attendance today with his wife Tess, and a very lovely young lady who up until now has been a bit of a mystery."

Sammi's head snapped up, and even Tommy paused near the door of the cage, fixing the two unaware commentators with a stare.

"We have rumors that the young woman is Tommy Conlon's girlfriend who had a run-in with some fans and security earlier today; we're told she was struck with a bottle of iced water in the back before Tommy came to her rescue. And just a little bit ago we received confirmation that her name is Sammi Carnevale from Pittsburgh. Originally from New York, we now have confirmation that she _was _the victim involved in one of the most heinous rapes and attempted murders of the past year; she was the victim of Jackson James and we have reports that she will be testifying at his trial this coming week, as she remains his only living victim."

Sammi felt the blood drain from her face as a strange, lightheaded sensation came over her. Her heart stuttered and jerked oddly as she felt seemingly every pair of eyes turn in her direction. The logical part of her brain knew that wasn't true; however, people _had_ turned to look at her, including Tess and Brendan. They both looked equally horrified.

Sammi's eyes dully sought Tommy's, and she noted dimly that she had never seen such a look of rage on his face before. She'd thought this morning was the maddest she'd ever seen him; he'd seemed almost happy then, by comparison now.

Everything unfolded in what seemed like slow motion. Tommy burst out of the cage and rushed toward the booth. Paddy leapt forward and caught his arm just as Brendan vaulted over the chairs in front of them to restrain his younger brother from the front. Tess was screaming out, and Sammi suddenly couldn't handle anyone else looking at her, pointing, whispering. She was torn, wanting to go to Tommy who was being restrained by his father, his brother, and three security guards from getting any closer to the booth, where the two commentators had jumped to their feet and backed up. One of them turned to look at Sammi, and the look on his face enraged her.

He didn't look apologetic; he looked amused.

The half-full cup of beer fell from her hand as she whirled. She found herself staring into the eyes of a tall man and his friend behind him. Both were smirking at her. Their mouths were opened; they were talking at her.

Jeering at her; making fun of her pain.

She tried to shove between them, get away from them, get out of the arena before anxiety overwhelmed her. One of the men, stinking with alcohol, grabbed her arm and tried to hold her back, press her between them. Tremendous fury rose up in her and before she knew what she was doing, her fists moved of their own accord.

She punched the one who touched her in his nose, feeling the bone crunch underneath her small knuckles as the force of her blow made his head snap back and he went toppling backward, knocking over chairs and people. She heard cries of dismay, but she swung on the other man, whose hand had risen to claim her other arm. She shoved her knee hard into his crotch, burying her kneecap deep in his groin and as the air audibly whooshed out of him, she flung an elbow into his face to send him sprawling back in the other direction.

She became aware of her name being screamed by someone, but she raced out of the arena into the hallways. She pulled off her troublesome heels and ran, fast, swift, light, down the concrete corridors until she instinctively reached the back entrance she'd arrived at. There was no one there now, so she exited and just kept running.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Happy Friday, y'all. *kisses***

**Chapter 28**

Later that night, Tommy stuck his head into the bedroom where Paddy was sprawled out, watching the news. He looked up when he saw Tommy, noting his extremely casual dress of sweatpants, a tank top, a sweatshirt, and socks.

"Hey son," he said. "What's up?"

"I'm goin' down the hall," Tommy replied. "See Sammi. She kind of had a rough one earlier but she won't admit it."

Paddy nodded. "Good idea. So did you." He looked back toward the television and cleared his throat. He tried to sound casual. "You, uh...you comin back tonight?"

Tommy gritted his teeth. It was a knee-jerk reaction, one he knew he had to work past, but he couldn't help the faintest stirrings of his old irritation when his father asked personal questions like that.

"I don't know," he replied honestly.

"Just remember we gotta be there by three tomorrow," Paddy said. "If you don't come back." He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as though the old man was trying not to smile.

Tommy gave one nod and backed out of the room. He needed to give Paddy a little credit, though. After Tommy had completely lost his temper and tried to attack the two commentators for being incredible _assholes_ and broadcasting Sammi's identity _and _her story to the MMA world, he should have been ejected from the tournament. But it had been Paddy's quick talking and pleading with the event organizers and even Wilcox himself that had kept Tommy in the fight.

Now, his concern was Sammi. She'd managed to run back, barefoot, to the hotel by herself and had locked herself in her room until they'd returned. She apologized to Brendan, Tess and Paddy for her behavior – knocking two tall guys out all by herself in her desperation to leave – and had quietly asked Tommy for a little time to herself. He'd been concerned but wanted to give her the space she needed, so she'd agreed. She'd eaten by herself and several hours had gone by before she finally texted him and asked him to come to her room.

Now, he headed down the hall in just his socks since Sammi's room was literally three doors away. He stopped when he reached it and knocked.

He heard the light padding of feet and then a pause and he knew she was peering through the peephole. He heard a loud click and then the door opened. His eyes moved over her quickly and he swallowed hard.

She was dressed in a bright pink, boxy cropped T-shirt that showed her smooth abdomen for the second time that day, flat from years of dance but not overly muscular, still on the soft side which he loved. The shirt hung off one shoulder, exposing a turquoise bra strap covered in tiny white polka dots. She wore a pair of short white boxer shorts with pink stripes and her long dark hair hung over one shoulder in a loose, messy braid.

"Hi," she said quietly. She stepped back to let him in, then shut and locked the door behind him. "Thanks for coming down. I just wanted some company. Your company."

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else," Tommy replied honestly. She took his hand and led him over to her bed. It wasn't in any sort of suggestive manner; it was easygoing, as though it was the most logical place they could lounge at almost eleven o'clock at night. She leapt lightly onto the bed and he flopped down beside her. He let out a contented sigh; it was the first time all day he'd had any time to relax. He propped himself up slightly to shove a pillow under the small of his back and leaned back so his shoulder blades were against the headboard and stretched his legs out in front of him. Sammi sat next to him with her back flush against the headboard and her knees pulled in to her chest.

"Are you pretty tired?" she asked, flipping idly through the TV channels at warp speed like she always did. He instantly picked up that she did not want to discuss the events of the day. He'd let her have her way for now, but sooner or later, he needed to talk to her about it.

"A little," Tommy said. "Not too worried about it, though. I've got plenty of time to sleep. We don't have to be back to the arena until three tomorrow afternoon."

"That's good," Sammi replied.

He glanced over at her. "You sure you want to come tomorrow?" He asked. "You don't have to, you know."

She looked at him. "Yes, of course I'll be there," she said, her slightly exasperated tone making him smile. "How could I not? I wouldn't miss it."

"Okay, okay," he said, lifting his hands to pay the air. "Calm down. Didn't mean to wake the beast."

She snorted and shoved at his shoulder lightly. He was glad to see her mood seemed to improve. She found some movie he hadn't seen before and set the remote down. It was some sort of crappy horror movie with a lot of gore, tits and ass, as well as a few choice sex scenes. He was starting to get interested in the plot when it appeared that all of the "protagonists" in the film would be killed off when Sammi startled him by suddenly pushing herself forward and flopping on her knees beside him. She placed her palms by her knees and leaned toward him. He looked at her in mild alarm.

"You okay?" he asked. He tilted his head at her curiously. "What is it?"

She opened her mouth to answer but nothing came out. She looked like she was reaching for something to tell him.

"Sam," he said, smirking at her. "What?"

She bit her lip and her mouth opened to speak again, and again nothing came out. She just looked at him.

Finally she slowly reached a hand out toward him, and took hold of the zipper on his navy blue sweatshirt. His eyebrows shot up and he looked down, watching as her hand slowly pulled the zipper down along its track, until she reached the bottom. With a little tug and flick of her wrist, the zipper opened and the jacket fell around either side of his waist.

He looked up at her again and she was staring. His brow creased slightly.

"Sam," he said quietly. "What are you doin'?" Based on her actions from their first night, and the trauma she'd experienced earlier, he didn't want her feeling like she needed to prove anything to him again.

In reply she slowly reached out again, this time with both hands and leaned across his chest to pull one side of his jacket down his arm and then the other. He caught her hand and tugged her closer.

"What are you doing?" he asked again softly. "You don't –"

"Shush," she said finally.

He blinked. "_Shush?_"

She suddenly leaned in, her face centimeters from his, her warm breath brushing his lips.

"I said, _shh_," she whispered. "Okay?"

He scanned her face, suddenly finding it hard to look away from her lips, and slowly nodded.

She leaned back and began pulling his arms out of the sleeves of his sweatshirt. When his arms were free, she pulled the sweatshirt from underneath him and tossed it onto the floor before she turned to look at him again.

He had no idea what she was doing or where she was going with this but he was intrigued and definitely getting aroused. He jumped slightly when her hands next moved to the bottom hem of his white, snug ribbed tank top and pulled it upward. He let her pull it up over his abdomen and helped her to pull it over his head. Her eyes raked down him for a long time while she sat motionless. He had just started to grow slightly uncomfortable under her scrutiny when she whispered, "You're beautiful."

He wasn't sure how to respond to it but whatever lame words he'd pulled forth from the recesses of his brain died in his mouth when her hands reached out slowly again and rested lightly on his pecs. His skin jumped at her touch as warmth flooded his body and blood surged to the sensitive area at the apex of his groin. Her small, soft hands pressed into his chest and then ran down the length of his abdomen, the tips of her fingers digging in ever so slightly. Her fingers traced the ridges of his heavily muscled stomach, following every curve of muscle, every outlined rib. Her fingers then moved higher to his chest and arms and she traced his tattoos. Her fingers skimmed his skin lightly and it was so relaxing he could have closed his eyes and gone to sleep.

He grew alert again when her hands dropped away and she met his eyes.

"Tommy," she whispered. She faltered and bit her lip.

"What?" he whispered back.

"Do you want…to see me?" Her fingers played at the hem of her cropped T-shirt.

Tommy swallowed hard. "Sammi," he said again. "You don't have to –"

"Do you want to see me?"

He searched her eyes for some semblance of her not knowing what she was doing and saw only want and calm in them. So he nodded slowly.

She took the hem of her shirt between her delicate fingertips and pulled it slowly upward over her head and tossed it aside. She lowered her arms and watched his eyes move helplessly all over her. She pushed backward slowly until she moved off the bed and brought her hands to the waistband of her little boxer shorts on her hips. Tommy's eyes widened slightly as she leaned forward and began to inch them off her hips until they slid down her legs. The overprotective part of his brain made him feel like he should tell her to stop, to put her clothes back on, but he couldn't seem to find the words. She was beautiful.

Her breasts were perky and round, generous for her frame but not too big, just perfectly proportioned. Her waist narrowed before bowing out into the slender, beautiful curves of her hips. Her thighs, both slender and thick at the same time, defined with muscle, called out for his hands and his mouth. In addition to her pretty, bright blue bra she wore a matching mesh thong and as she leaned forward to crawl onto the bed he almost lost it when he saw the way the lingerie disappeared between the rounded, high mounds of soft flesh of her backside.

He sucked in his breath when she crawled over him and swung a leg over his hips until she straddled him. He balled his fists into the comforter as she tilted her head and undid her braid, letting her long thick mane flow free. She met his eyes.

"What do you think?" she whispered.

His eyes raked down her involuntarily. "I think you're gorgeous," he replied.

"Do you want to see more?" she asked almost shyly, her voice hushed.

The urge to protest hit his tongue again, borne only out of worry for her, that she didn't know what she was doing, but died on his tongue at the look in her eyes. He nodded again.

She slid a hand to her shoulder and slowly pulled one bra strap down and she used her other hand to hold the cup of the bra to her breast as she maneuvered her arm out of the strap. She moved to the other arm and repeated the action. She covered her breasts with a forearm and slowly pulled the garment off herself.

"Do you want to touch me now?" she whispered.

Wordlessly, he nodded. Sammi slowly moved her arms away from her chest and he sucked in another breath as he beheld her breasts for the first time. They were supple, perfectly rounded and formed, and her nipples were tantalizingly erect and pink, practically begging for his mouth.

She reached down and took his hand and slowly brought it to her breast. His hand closed gently around it and he swiped his thumb lightly over her nipple, clenching his jaw at the feeling of her soft flesh and the taut little peak that seemed to grow harder under his touch.

He felt himself growing and tightening inside his pants and Sammi had seated herself directly over him, and he could feel her hot core through the thin fabric of his sweatpants. She sucked in a soft, audible breath when she felt his arousal move right against her.

She covered his hand with her own again over her breast and squeezed his hand to entice him to squeeze her breast and he complied, unclenching his other fist from the comforter to run his hand down her smooth back, his fingers trailing down the indentation of her spine, until he grazed the soft flesh of her backside. Her other hand met his there and squeezed around it as well.

"You won't break me," she whispered, a slight smile tugging her lips.

She leaned close to his face but stopped short of actually kissing him; her forehead was against his and her lips brushed his and he felt her breath come in light little pants as his hands roamed and squeezed her body. When both of his hands cupped her breasts at the same time she sighed and he watched as she bit her lip. He decided he wanted to try something to both gauge her reaction and satiate his own desire so he pushed her back gently by the shoulders and glanced up into her face, seeing her eyes dark with what he hoped was arousal. He pressed one hand into her back and brought his face to her chest and languidly licked at one of her nipples before drawing it into his mouth. Her flesh was sweet as it always was; her skin smooth and supple and his mouth devoured her.

She gasped at the initial sensation of his tongue swirling around her sensitive little peak, and she let out a short, soft moan when he suckled at her nipple. He pulled away slowly and looked up at her before repeating the action with her other breast. Her hands grappled at his shoulders and he felt the sweet bite of her nails as they dug into his flesh, letting him know wordlessly how much she liked it.

He reached up to tilt her head down and stretched his neck slightly to take her mouth in the way they both loved. She was eager with her lips and tongue. Tommy usually made it a point to keep her kisses slow and leisurely but as the heat of his growing arousal sharpened his need for her to the point of desperation, he couldn't slow the movements of his own mouth, too eager to devour as much of her as he could manage.

"Tommy," she panted when she pulled her head back. She gripped his face to make him look at her. "You can have me however you want me."

The words hit him like a bucket of ice water. He didn't want to ruin the moment by asking her if she was sure, but at the same time, it was important that he was absolutely certain _she_ was absolutely certain as he was determined never to hurt her or make her feel uncomfortable.

His hesitation and uncertainty must have been plain on his face because she leaned in again and kissed him tenderly.

"I'm sure," she whispered, a reply to his unasked question. "I want you to have me. I trust you."

At her words, he held her tight as he maneuvered himself to his knees and flipped her onto her back. Surprise filled her eyes as she wasn't expecting the sudden move, but she gazed up at him, her beautiful breasts moving quickly with her increased breaths, and she watched with wide eyes as he pulled off his sweatpants and shucked his socks, leaving him in only his boxer briefs. He loomed over her and thought about how very small she looked lying underneath him and how big he must look to her hovering over her. He leaned down to take her lips in his as he thrust his hardness right up against her, grinding into her right between her legs, and she squealed into his mouth at the sensation, clutching at him and digging her nails into his broad shoulders again. Her knees drew up to her ribs before wrapping around his waist to hold him tight against her.

They stayed like that for a long time, mouths fused together as he ground his increasing arousal into her hot core. Finally he gently broke the hold of her legs and pulled his mouth away. She was panting hard and he reached for the waistband of her thong and pulled it over her hips, down her legs. He pulled them apart again at the ankle and kissed his way upward, alternating between each leg, until he settled himself between her thighs. She knew what was coming but her breath hitched with anticipation anyway and she watched him with wide brown eyes. He kissed and suckled at the insides of each thigh, licking the crease of joint where her thighs connected to her pelvis, making her jump at the sensation, until finally his tongue brushed lightly over her center and she moaned aloud at the sensation that the slight touch provided. He paused, breathing on the moisture he'd just made, giving her a moment to collect herself, and then he lapped against her, scooping her flesh into his mouth like he was eating the sweetest of fruits. She squealed and moaned at the sensation as his tongue moved all over her center, into it, taking mouthfuls of her wet, twitching flesh like it was his last meal.

He'd enjoyed her taste previously but tonight it was slightly different; it was richer, sweeter. It was heady and intoxicating and though he usually enjoyed slowly teasing her orgasms out of her, her taste was too sweet, too delicious for him to curb his greediness as his mouth took her, over and over, until he snapped back to the present and realized she had been building an intense orgasm and judging by the way her hard little pearl was growing harder and swelling up against his tongue, it was about to burst out of her at any moment.

And then it did, literally, a gush of her sweet fluid rushing out of her and into his mouth, tasting like the heavy syrup from a can of peaches. She keened out a hoarse, shaky moan, her hips bucking. He held them in place as he lapped up all of her sweet syrup from her velvety folds, the insides of her thighs, making sure not one drop went to waste as her body convulsed through the aftershocks. When he'd gotten it all, he moved back up her body to hover his mouth over hers and she tilted her head up to meet his and immediately accepted his tongue deep in her mouth the way it had been buried deep in her core only a few moments earlier.

His arousal strained, and he felt like he was harder than he'd ever been in his entire life. It ached a little and he knew he couldn't wait much longer. As though she read his mind, he felt her toes wedge into the waistband of his boxer briefs and maneuver them down over his hips until he could shake them the rest of the way off his legs. He reached down to touch her and felt like he might come just from knowing, from _feeling_, how amazingly wet she was now. He took himself in hand and slid his tip along her wet folds, pushing ever so slightly here and there to find the sweetest of the sweet spots that would yield to him to let him push through and settle into her even sweeter depths.

He felt her entire body tense and looked into her eyes, immediately stopping his movements although he twitched against her wet flesh.

"Sam," he murmured, seeing her eyes were squeezed shut tightly. "Don't do that. Open your eyes and look at me."

She did, and met his gaze. "It's me," he whispered and leaned down to kiss her; her lips accepted the kiss but didn't move with his. "You're with _me_. Just kiss me." He moved his lips insistently over hers until she began to return his kisses and the passion built up between them again.

"You okay?" he asked between kisses.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "Please, Tommy. Now." Her whisper was laced with need, with want, so he took hold of himself again and found the sweetest point of entry and lined himself up to it. He parted her lips with his tongue before sliding it down deep into her mouth, to find the prize of her tongue and twist and pull at it slowly with his. At the same time, he coated his tip in her moisture and moved into her slowly.

He was generously sized with a slight curve, and she was incredibly tight; all of those things required as gentle and slow an entry as possible. He maneuvered his first couple inches of length into her and felt her entire body begin to tense up again.

"Tommy," she breathed, doubt flowing out of her now.

"Relax," he whispered into her neck, and after taking a deep breath, she did, and he pushed forward a few more inches. Her wetness gushed deliciously around him and he felt her ultra-tight walls stretch to let him in and then immediately close around him, fitting him like a glove. He looked into her heavily lidded eyes and pushed his last few inches the rest of the way into her and she gasped. He scanned her face with his eyes to make sure she wasn't in any pain; her eyes flew open wide and then slowly fluttered shut as her teeth sank into her bottom lip. He nuzzled the pulse in her neck.

"Talk to me," he murmured. "You okay?"

"Just – hold on a second," she whispered back. It was quite possibly the most difficult request she'd ever made, as every inch of his skin was burning with the desire, the _need_, to begin thrusting his hips into her, but he took a deep, silent breath through his nose and waited for her to acclimate herself to the feeling of him inside her. He looked into her face again and saw her eyes were shut tightly. He was about to ask her if she wanted him to stop altogether when suddenly, he felt one of her legs entangle around the back of his thigh and her other leg slide up against his waist, and then he felt a small but powerful forward thrust of her hips below him, and he bit back a grunt of pleasure at the feeling of her wet, tight walls sliding over him. It was unmistakably permission to go ahead.

He slid one hand into her hair, the other arm bearing his weight as he leaned over her, and he took her mouth with his again as he started to move, slowly rolling his hips into hers. He didn't push deeply into her and didn't withdraw completely, waiting for her to let him know what she wanted and what she liked. She gasped softly into his mouth and he used all of his self-control and willpower to pace himself. He could have released, and happily, the moment he entered her fully, her walls felt that amazing around him, but this occurrence as everything had been was about her. It was extremely important to him that her first time being fully intimate with him was nothing short of phenomenal for her; it was not lost on him that not only was this her first time having sex since her attack…_he _was the first man she'd been with since. He wanted and needed to show her, remind her, what sex with someone she trusted and cared about, and who trusted and cared about her, could feel like.

Her mouth had fallen away from his slightly as she became consumed with the feeling of him moving inside her. He was still carefully controlling the movements of his hips, trying to think of other things besides how gorgeous she looked below him, how satiny smooth her skin felt, how fucking _tight_ she was, when he felt her hands move from his sides to his back and run down the length of it, stopping until she had a hand on each cheek. He felt her nails dig in, and the sensation of the tiny sparks of pain in such a sensitive area gave him a jolt and did nothing to help his cause to last as long as he could. He clenched his jaw, biting back another groan, only to give up on muffling them as immediately another one erupted from his throat when he felt the almost imperceptible pressure of the palms of her hands pressing against his ass.

_Deeper._

He decided to stop double-checking her every request and just obey, so he gratefully thrust into her, hissing lightly when he felt his tip slide past his previous boundary into even warmer, wetter territory. Her palms pressed insistently against him, and she whispered something, so softly he almost didn't hear it. _Almost _didn't – but he did.

"_Yes."_

He wanted to curse, he wanted to sink his teeth into her neck, but he restrained himself, focusing on the slow, deep thrusts she seemed to be enjoying. He lifted his head and looked down at her. It was a bad idea; he had looked into the face of a woman riding a high wave of arousal and pleasure, and it almost undid him. He lowered his face to her neck quickly, but the image of her heavy-lidded eyes, narrowed to slits from the surges of pleasure she was feeling, her full, plump, pouty lips parted to let her sighs and pin-drop soft moans escape unhindered, her cheeks flushed and her dark hair fluffed around her like a silken, wavy halo was seared into his brain like it had been put there with a branding iron. He felt his scrotum jerk as his testes tightened up, preparing for their imminent release.

_Don't fucking do it_, he warned himself, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing his breathing to regulate. _Do not fucking do it._

"Tommy," she whispered, and he cringed. Hearing his name uttered while she was in such a state of arousal was not helping him out. He lifted his head again and used the hand in her hair to tilt her head toward his so he could take her mouth and silence any other unbearably sexy utterances slipping between her lips. After a few moments, she pulled her mouth from his slightly to whisper again.

"Harder," she breathed against his lips. He clenched his jaw again as his hips moved of their own accord, as if they heard the request too and were only too happy to acquiesce. She was going to kill him. But he was determined not to climax until she reached hers, even if he died in the process. But if she kept making these types of requests, he couldn't guarantee he would survive to see the end result.

He lowered his mouth to her breast as he moved, his tongue slipping out to tease the erect, pink nub, making her gasp sharply and tangle the fingers of one hand in his hair. He drew it into his mouth, trying to focus solely on that and not the way her walls kept clamping down around him and how she only seemed to be getting wetter and wetter. He teethed her nipple lightly, smiling when she squealed, moaning when she began lifting her hips off the bed to meet each of his thrusts. He pulled away from her breast, moving back up toward her mouth. He meant to tell her she couldn't do that, that this would be over too soon, but the sight of her opened mouth, her lips so plump and moist and inviting, made him forget about what he wanted to say and instead of using his lips and tongue to talk to her, he used them to taste her mouth. The simultaneous feeling of her tongue sliding and twisting against his while her hips thrust back against him, deepening the penetration that much more, made him realize that he was fighting a losing battle against himself. The warm heat that had been coiling in his pelvis started pulling tighter and tighter; he felt as though every drop of blood in his body had gone to set up shop inside his member, as it felt literally rock hard, heralding the arrival of his release sooner than he preferred.

He removed his hand from her hair and slipped it down between their bodies, between her legs, and began to stroke her with his fingers in the way he knew all too well that she liked. Her eyes flew open and she looked at him, letting another of those soft moans pass her lips as her body responded to the new set of sensations he was giving her. Her head tilted back into the pillow as her breathing increased. He licked his tongue along the line of her throat, glancing down and seeing her abdominal muscles contract. His lips set up camp in the hollow of her throat as he stroked her, and not too much longer after that, he felt her tiny pearl start to harden and swell against his fingertip, signaling her impending release. His hips never stopped moving, although hers had thankfully settled back onto the bed, stilling at the first touch of his fingers. Suddenly her breaths sped up, building on top of each of other, and her moans joined them, building in volume and length. They began as soft little pants, and by the time a real, throaty moan erupted from her throat, her whole body seized and her legs tightened around him and a soft string of unintelligible curses fell from her lips. It was, hands down, the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed, and although he knew he shouldn't be watching her as it ratcheted up his own need to release, he couldn't look away.

"Tommy!" she breathed rapturously, finally opening her eyes and staring up at him. His teeth sank into his lower lip as he met her gaze, silently begging his body to give him just a little bit longer. Her hands slid down his back to his hips and she took ahold of them firmly.

"Faster," she commanded in a whisper, and he actually groaned, not only from pleasure but also because that was the final request he dreaded her making. Deep, hard, and fast – this would be over before either one of them knew it.

"Sammi," he finally managed, his voice deep and rough with lust, "if I do – this is gonna be over too fa –"

"I want it," she whispered back. "I'm so close. Give it to me."

_Ah, fuck_.

He let her hands guide his hips so he could see just how she liked it; when he reached a specific mixture of speed, depth, and force, she moaned and he felt her legs pull away from him and saw, amazed, that her knees were pulled back, her thighs spread wide, toes in the air and pointed from years of dance discipline. His eyes followed the line of her leg from hip to toe and it was too much of a turn on. He lowered his face to her neck again, burying it in soft curve where jaw melded into throat, and drove them both home.

His hips moved with lightning sharp thrusts, his tip sliding past a soft, spongy little mass over and over on its way to meet and re-meet her cervix, and just when he realized he had about five to seven good thrusts left before his body checked out, something amazing happened.

Her walls shuddered violently and clamped down tight around him, tighter than they had been the entire time he'd been inside her, and he felt her skin heat up against his, felt her heart pound through her rib cage and her pulse throb in her neck, felt her nipples become hard and prominent against his chest, felt her pelvis pulsate and contract rapidly below his. He felt her jaw press into the side of his face as her mouth fell open, and lifted his head in time to watch her eyes fly open wide like they always did when she was about to come.

As her orgasm barreled into her, a strangled, raspy groan vibrated out of her throat and her eyes squeezed shut and her entire warm little body convulsed below and against him as tremors of pleasure coursed through her. Internally, he felt her walls and pelvic muscles flutter tightly, rapidly around his length and before hers was even over, his climax was slamming into him like a freight train and this time he did bite her, he couldn't help it, his deep grunt of extreme, body-shaking, soul-rattlingly intense pleasure muffled against her flesh.

His body slowed its movements, although his hips kept thrusting, shallowly, gently, as his seed drained from his body and into hers and he felt her walls twitch with the aftershocks of her climax. Her hands were stroking over his back and her eyes were shut tight.

"You good?" he managed, exhaustion and satisfaction like he'd never known before settling deep into his bones.

"I'm….so good," she whispered back, a soft smile curving her lips and watching it, Tommy suddenly felt like he knew the secret of the Mona Lisa. He started to withdraw from her but her hands pressed against his back. "Don't…not yet."

He lowered his face to hers and slowly kissed her swollen lips, feeling her tongue slip forth to find his. They kissed slowly and deeply for several long moments until Tommy actually felt the stirrings of arousal ghost through his lower belly again. After a moment, he withdrew from her and lay on his back, enjoying the feeling of the cool sheets against his hot skin. Sammi rolled onto her side to face him and he turned his head toward hers, the hand closest to her reaching out to play in her hair.

Her eyes searched his face and her lips parted to speak, but as before, she couldn't seem to find words. Instead, she bit at her lower lip then smiled widely at him, her eyes lowering. He always got a kick out of the fact that she could never seem to meet his eyes after they were intimate but also couldn't keep the telltale smile off her face that let him know she was, undoubtedly and decidedly, satisfied.

He let a half-smile tug at one corner of his mouth before he reached out to take her chin between his fingers and brought his mouth to hers.

"Come here," he murmured and rolled her onto her other side so she was facing away from him. He arranged the sheet around her and then pulled her tight against his chest. He dropped his lips onto the side of her neck as she sighed contentedly and snuggled into his embrace. He stroked whatever skin of hers he could touch as he listened to her breathing. It slowly deepened and then evened out, and he felt her body go limp against him, and he knew she was asleep.

He wedged a leg in between hers to pull her closer still and buried his mouth and nose in her hair, closing his eyes and letting his body relax fully for the first time in as long as he could remember.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing. I love that you loved the last couple chapters. Before I forget - special shout out to Ctinaisfashion and Mals86. You lovely ladies have helped me out quite a bit and I am eternally indebted to you. Kisses.**

**Chapter 29**

Sammi slid out of bed, trying her best not to disturb Tommy as she scooted over the expanse of mattress and sheets. She stopped when Tommy's hand suddenly tightened around her waist; she should have known better. There wasn't any sneaking around someone who had trained for years to be on high alert at all times.

"Sam," he mumbled. "What's going on? Where you goin'?"

"Just need to go to the bathroom," she whispered back, leaning over to peck his temple. "Be right back."

He grunted softly in reply and his hand relaxed, allowing her to slip away. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand as her bare feet hit the carpet, noting that it was just after four in the morning. She was naked, so she plucked his sweatshirt from the floor and wrapped it around herself, zipping it up, as she padded into the bathroom, the tile cold against the bottoms of her feet.

She shut the door and the silence in the room was too much to handle, so she flicked on the water for noise. She used the toilet, cleaning up the remnants of their night together as she did so before she flushed. She leaned against the counter and studied herself in the mirror.

The sensitive flesh between her legs throbbed dully with soreness, the muscles there not used to stretching or conforming around something the way they had a few hours before. It reminded her of the pain she'd felt days after her attack, a terrible pain that, even after it left her body physically, still ghosted through her for weeks, months, afterward. She fought back those memories as they tried to claw their way to the surface of her mind, trying to focus on her more recent experience that resulted in similar feelings but was actually pleasant. She thought of warm, gentle hands on her body, full, sweet lips against hers, and the waves of pleasure, beautiful, amazing pleasure, that coursed through her nonstop for the better part of an hour. She had climaxed three times, each one better than the last, and it had been because of him, the man sleeping in her bed right now. She thought about his mouth on her flesh, the magical things he'd done with his tongue, and the delicious feeling of being filled to the brim with him. His length and his thickness had filled her as no one had ever done before, moving inside her, tapping some sort of hidden well deep within her because she'd never known her body was capable of becoming _that_ aroused, _that_ excited at his touch, _that_ consumed with pleasure. She felt a little smile tug at the corners of her lips, still a little swollen from their passion, as her flesh tingled and twitched. He might have just created a monster; a sensual, hungry, aching, insatiable little monster.

She let out a shaky, involuntary sigh and opened her eyes, surprised to see herself touching one hand to her lips while the other had fallen between her thighs. Her chocolate brown eyes were bright and her cheeks were suddenly flushed. She'd been afraid, for just a moment before sleep had claimed her when they were done, that she'd made a horrible mistake, that she'd wake up and hate herself, and worse, him, but hours later, in the darkness of the early morning…she smiled.

Perhaps her reasons for asking Tommy to come to her room had not been completely without agenda. Yesterday had been a day from hell. Between the violence she'd suffered at the hands of the women at the gate to her terrible, horrible secret being revealed to _everyone_, her mental state had been fragile and damaged. Once she'd made it back to her hotel room, she'd literally hidden under the covers and sobbed uncontrollably, her body wracking as she had screamed her anger and anguish into the pillows. She wanted to call someone, her family; in fact she had reached for the phone, but she drew her hand back as reason sat coolly upon her. There was no need to alarm her parents and she knew that if she called them in _this _state with _that_ news, it would only result in just that – panic. She wanted to call Bunz, but she felt that all she'd been doing lately was unburdening herself on her best friend. So, instead, she'd wrapped herself in the comforter and watched TV, silent and shaking and crying, until the Conlons had knocked on her door.

She had apologized for her behavior, for storming out, and begged for privacy. She could hardly look at Tommy – he still wore the expression of rage she'd seen when he'd stormed out of the cage and charged at the commentator booth. The look terrified her, but now, in addition, he looked terribly concerned for her. Brendan looked abashed, like he wanted to say something to comfort her but didn't know how. Tess looked shocked, and Paddy just looked sad. Sammi looked at each one of their faces, and it was too much.

They left her alone without any questions, and she'd gone back to bed.

She ordered room service for herself, paying with it with her own money because she didn't want anyone to feel burdened by her. She had lain in bed some more, had thought some more, had cried some more. She was beyond humiliated and ashamed, but now rage was beginning to stir in her gut as well. How had they found out about her – and who had told? Who could do something so heartless and cruel?

After a while, she'd begun to feel lonely, and there was only one person that could solve that. She genuinely craved physical contact with Tommy, had hungered for it, in fact. She wanted to be intimate with him in the ways they were familiar with by now. It was only until he had been lying next to her on her bed that she'd felt a stronger desire for something more. She might have been playing at readiness the night before, but now she was sure – she wanted him that way; _needed_ him that way. And now that she had allowed it, she was glad she did. He'd taken her mind completely off the awful situation, forcing her to concentrate only on him and their bodies and the way they were using their bodies to bring each other pleasure. Everything else had been blocked out of her mind during their time together – all she could focus on was him.

But now…her thoughts were coming back to the situation at hand. They pinched at her brain, made her stomach clench with stress. She'd promised Tommy last night that she'd be there for him throughout the whole tournament, and she wanted to prove that to him. She wanted to prove that no matter what happened, she would always be there to support him the way he did her. But as the thought of what that would entail – walking back into an arena full of people after being labeled a rape and attempted murder victim – came over her, she instantly regretted her promise. She would go through with it – she _had _to – but she now wished she would have listened to him and agreed with him when he told her he thought it might be too much.

She thought back to the reporter that had tried to speak to her and Brendan and Tess earlier that day – Marty Brown. He'd been slippery, slimy and altogether sneaky. Then there was Colt. Aside from noting the way he'd voluntarily left her behind in the crowd, she hadn't missed the look of shock and then cold anger on his face when Tommy fired him. She still thought that was a spontaneous move on Tommy's part, and one not well thought out – they owned the gym together. What would happen now?

She shuddered as a wave of negative emotion went over her. She couldn't help feeling responsible for this nasty turn of events. She knew that was silly, that she hadn't done anything directly, but if Tommy had not gotten mixed up with her, none of this would ever have happened.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she quickly turned the water off and went to open the door. Tommy stood there, his sweatpants tugged on haphazardly, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice deep with sleep. "You been in here a while."

"I'm…okay," she replied, deciding it was the only word she could use. She was _great _as far as they went; but thinking about the situation surrounding it had dampened her mood considerably. But the sight of him, shirtless, in a pair of low-slung sweatpants and nothing else was distracting her and making her feel tingly again. She licked her lips.

"You feel…all right?" he asked, folding his arms. "You're not in any pain or anything?"

She smiled and reached out, unable to stop herself from touching his stomach. "Not, like, in a bad way."

He looked mystified, his eyes following the movement of her hand as it stroked along his skin. She didn't miss the slight jerking movement just under the fabric of his pants. "Is there a _good_ way to be in pain?"

She looked up at him as she allowed her fingers to brush ever so lightly over the front of his sweatpants, confirming that he was swelled and ready for her the way she craved and was ready for his body again. She pushed him lightly backward out of the bathroom, turning off the light.

"There is definitely a way to be in pain in a good way," she whispered and reached up to unzip his sweatshirt from around her body, letting it fall to the floor around her feet as his tongue swept out over his lip, his eyes moving over her naked body. She gave him another light push and he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands reaching for her hips and sliding up her sides. "Let me show you."

:O:O:O:

Brendan left Tess, Tommy, Sammi and Paddy eating a quiet breakfast on the patio of the hotel later that morning. He was glad to see that Sammi seemed to be doing a lot better than yesterday. Things felt a bit awkward now that he, and every other fucking person inside that arena and/or who watched the ESPN _or _the news, knew just what she had been through. It made him furious; he was a father to two beautiful little girls and a husband to a beautiful, amazing wife, and had formerly been a teacher to a lot of really smart teenage girls who had unlimited potential in the world. The thought of something that hideous happening to any one of them made him feel sick to his stomach.

He felt a strange mixture of pity and pride for his baby brother. The Tommy he used to know would never have devoted his time and effort to someone who had gone through what Sammi had. That Tommy would have gone running in the other direction. But now, here was his little brother, obviously smitten with the girl, being careful not to stifle or smother her, but standing silently behind her, ready to do whatever he needed in order to keep her safe and to help her heal. Yesterday's reveal had taken a toll on him as well, and Brendan could not recall another time when he'd seen such fury on his brother's face. Even at their worst moments together, Tommy had always possessed a kind of careful, controlled anger; Brendan had never seen Tommy fully lose his temper before. For a moment, he'd actually been scared _of _his younger brother. It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed combined with Paddy's to prevent Tommy from making a _huge _mistake.

But Brendan knew there was much more to the situation than met the eye, and he wasn't about to let it slide. He'd done a little research on the hotel, asked a few questions, and now knew exactly where he was going. He headed to the bank of elevators and rode them to the fourth floor. He found the room he was looking for and listened intently. He heard shuffling noises from inside and glanced at his watch. It was exactly eleven in the morning – check-out time.

Colton Boyd was nothing if not punctual.

Brendan was leaning against the wall opposite the door when Colt finally opened it. To the man's credit, surprise flamed in his eyes only very briefly before settling into a cool mask of nonchalance. His hand settled on the doorknob as though he were trying to decide what to do. Finally, he stepped backward, allowing the bags on his shoulder to slip down his arm and settle on the carpet as he pulled the door open wider.

"Brendan. How predictable. Come on in."

Brendan pushed off from the wall and stepped into the room, careful to note Colt's exact position behind him. He didn't expect the man to do anything untoward, but it never hurt to be alert. He knew he wouldn't have much trouble at all subduing the man if necessary.

Brendan found another wall to lean against as Colt moved to the desk chair across from him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and folded his fingers together over his belly, looking up at Brendan coolly.

"So. What would you like to talk about?"

"You and Marty Brown leaked that information about Sammi," Brendan said matter-of-factly. "I don't know if you know this, Colt, but revealing the identity of a rape victim prior to a trial is illegal in this state."

Colt shrugged negligently. "You have no proof," he said simply. "There is nobody to prove I had anything to do with it."

"But you did," Brendan replied. "You both did."

"Hey, that freelancer asked what her name was. I told him. Might have made mention that she's Tommy's little basket case. Maybe that set him off; I dunno. All I know is he was pissed you and your wife brushed him off – he'd been prepaid for an exclusive on the relationship of the infamous Conlon brothers post-Sparta. Whatever he did after that, he ran with it."

"What kind of man are you?" Brendan asked rhetorically. "Who does that kind of a thing? Do you have any idea how much damage that caused?"

Colt shrugged again. "Not my problem, man." He rose from his seat. "What _is _your problem, or rather, your baby brother's problem, is the shit storm that's about to hit him from treating me how he did. Fire _me? _He wouldn't be here if it weren't for me! He wouldn't ever have been in Sparta if it weren't for me! Fire _me?_" Colt got nose to nose with Brendan and glared. Brendan looked back at him impassively, but internally his muscles coiled tight as he felt the pure rage rolling off the man in almost noxious waves.

"Tell your brother that two can play that game – he's no longer manager of the gym. _My_ gym."

"His gym, too," Brendan said quietly. "I seem to remember this part where he's co-owner."

Colt smiled cruelly at him. "Yeah, about that. When he signed the contract, he agreed I would retain majority ownership and the right to dissolve the partnership as I saw fit. Well, now I see fit. Colt's Gym is _mine,_ and you can tell him for me he's officially out on his ass. Hope he doesn't have any personals in _my _office – if so, they're goin' in the trash." Colt stepped around Brendan to pick up his bags, and Brendan clenched his jaw angrily.

"Tell your boy he just fucked up royally," Colt continued, opening the door again. "Oh, one more thing." He turned and gave Brendan another chilling smile. "I've got a sweet little surprise waiting for him. I won't ruin the punchline for you. Tell him to watch his ass." Colt stepped out of the room and the door slammed shut behind him, as Brendan stood rooted in place, unable to process what he'd just heard. Things had gone from bad to completely _fucked_ in a matter of seconds.

He headed back to the patio where his family was still breakfasting and caught Tommy's eye, waving him over. His brother rose from his seat, wiping his mouth on a napkin and joined him where Brendan was standing a few feet away. He folded his arms and frowned at his brother's expression.

"What is it?" Tommy asked quietly. "Where'd you go?"

Brendan sighed. "I – I went to go look for Colt." He steeled himself against the look of pure anger that creased his brother's face.

"You did _what_?" Tommy hissed, struggling to keep his voice low. "Brendan – what the fuck?"

Brendan held up a hand. "Look, get mad at me if you want to. I was just bein' a big brother. None of that sat well with me yesterday. Tommy, he worked with Marty to leak the story to the commentators. He said he gave Marty her name, and he did the rest."

Tommy shook his head in disgust. "Marty Brown has been after me since I told him to go eat shit when he tried to interview me at Sparta last year. He had somethin' to do with the JAG coming there and throwing my ass in jail as soon as I got dressed."

Brendan nodded. "Yes. And he's also got a huge part in this. I don't know what can be done legally yet, but I promise, I won't let him get away with this." He paused awkwardly. "Er, there's more."

Tommy frowned at him again.

"Colt fired you, and he spoke to his lawyer to get your business partnership dissolved. Says you signed a contract allowing him to retain the rights of the business should you leave for any reason." Brendan reached out and gripped his brother's shoulder briefly. "I – you're out of a job, Tommy. I'm sorry."

Tommy sighed heavily and shook his head. He rubbed the scruff of beard on his lower face, raking his index finger back and forth over his bottom lip for a long moment until he shrugged. "Probably for the best. He was always a dirty bastard anyway." He glanced up at Brendan and a small, self-mocking smile tugged at his mouth. "Guess I'll have to come off my high horse and do those fucking endorsement deals after all."

"The mighty have fallen," Brendan teased back lightly. Their faces both grew serious then. "Tommy, you'll be okay, though," he added reassuringly. "You've got options, you've got savings. You're fine."

"I'll be fine, yeah," Tommy said. He shrugged. "I'm just thinking about Pilar and the kids."

"I will pitch in whatever is needed," Brendan said firmly. "Seriously."

Tommy shook his head. "No, man," he said firmly. "They're _my_ responsibility. Not yours. I'll figure something out." He shook his head again and looked off. "Fucking bastard, Colton Boyd. Son of a bitch."

"_Hey!"_

The loud, gruff shout pierced the stillness on the patio and Brendan's head snapped around in its direction, Tommy's doing the same. Brendan was startled to see a tall, stocky older man stomping across the patio toward them.

"Fucking hell," he heard Tommy mutter under his breath.

"Dad?" Sammi called at the same time, sounding shocked, and Brendan suppressed a groan.

"Baby, you okay?" her father demanded, cupping her face in his hands before glaring angrily at Tommy. "_You!"_

Tommy had stepped forward toward the man. "Sir –"

"What's going on?" Paddy demanded, rising to his feet.

"Don't 'sir' me!" Sammi's father bellowed back. "Don't give me any of that shit! I told you – keep my daughter safe from this bullshit and what happens? I get the news that her identity has been shared with the general fuckin' public two days before she testifies. How in the _fuck _does that happen?"

"Sir, I take the blame," Tommy said quietly. "I should have –"

"You should have, but you didn't!" Sammi's father pulled Sammi to her feet by her arm, her eyes going wide.

"Dad, what –"

"You're coming with me and your mother, _now,"_ he said. "I'm not leaving you with this man for one more second."

"Sir, what happened yesterday was a mistake," Paddy interjected, lifting both of his hands. "Tommy had nothing to do with that – it was a freelance journalist who's had it out for him since day one –"

Sammi's father seemed to notice Paddy for the first time. "I don't care what business your son has with journalists – I _do_ care when _my_ little girl gets caught in the crosshairs!" He pulled Sammi along as she protested, completely confused and upset. "Don't you ever come around my daughter again! Not in New York and damn sure not in Pittsburgh. You're done!"

"Dad, I want him there!" Sammi cried shrilly. "You can't do this!"

"Baby, this is for your own good," her father said roughly. "He can't keep you safe. I refuse to allow anything bad to happen to you –" His voice choked and for a moment he said nothing, just blinking rapidly into his daughter's face. Brendan felt a sudden surge of empathy for the man; Tommy didn't deserve at all the dressing down he was receiving, but Brendan knew what it was to have a father's love for his daughter, his little girl.

Tommy stood silently, knowing that to say anything else would be to say too much. He just watched them, and Brendan felt awful at the look on his face, watching Sammi being taken away from him.

"Let's go," her father said finally, and he tugged Sammi into the hotel. "Get your things. We're leaving for the city right now."

Sammi's eyes had filled with tears as she looked back at Tommy. Her mouth opened to speak but she didn't say anything. They shared a long look before Tommy nodded silently at her, telling her to go. Sammi uttered a choked sob and let her father pull her into the hotel, the glass patio door shutting behind them.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

Tommy sat sullenly in his dressing room back at the First Niagara Center. He was lying on the floor with his legs against the wall. It was his favorite way to stretch, to relax, to focus on what was coming. It helped him calm his thoughts and get into the mindset he needed to be in to be successful.

The problem was, none of that was happening now. His thoughts were swirling and he felt anything but relaxed or at peace.

He hated the fact that Sammi had left. He hated the fact that he'd disappointed her father, and he really hated the fact that to some extent, he agreed with the things that had been said about him. Much like he'd told Colt, he'd had one job, and that was to make sure Sammi was taken care of. He'd failed. Regardless of how it had happened…he'd failed.

She'd sent him a text a little later on, telling him that she could have forced her own hand in the matter and refused to accompany her father, but she and Mr. Carnevale had had a long talk in her room as she was packing up, and her father had broken down in tears in front of her. It scared and upset her, she wrote, and allowed her to see just how badly her circumstances affected her father, who had always been the rock in the family and her backbone throughout the ordeal. So, in order to keep the peace and for the sake of her father's sanity, she had quietly left the hotel. She wished him luck, told him she'd be keeping up with what was going on through media outlets and Tess, and hoped to talk to him soon. He hadn't been able to respond yet, simply because he couldn't think of anything to say in reply. Nothing seemed to be good or appropriate enough.

And so, he said nothing.

Luckily, his family seemed to be able to sense his mood and wisely left him alone. Paddy would come in soon to wrap up his hands. Beyond that, Tommy wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. They turned angrily to problem with Colt. He hadn't expected it, but wasn't surprised when Colt had given him the ax. It sucked, but he knew financially he was fine with or without the job. He hated the idea of not being able to work with Fen or Leon anymore, but that didn't mean they couldn't hang out.

The more Tommy thought about it, the more he began to view the end of the partnership in a positive light. For some time, he'd been wondering why he was working _for _someone. There was no reason why he couldn't be successful on his own. Even though he had "co-owned" the gym, Colt had always retained the majority percentage of ownership. The name was "Colt's Gym" – it had never belonged to Tommy.

He decided he would open his own gym, and Colton Boyd could go suck a dick.

He'd mulled over the idea previously, but it had been much simpler to take the partnership deal with Colt rather than to start from scratch. But the more he thought of it, the more he realized that was precisely what he needed to do. He needed to branch out on his own, be responsible for himself and work for himself. If he ever had a partner, he would look no further than his own brother, but Tommy wasn't convinced he couldn't do it himself. The past several months at Colt's, Tommy had single-handedly taken care of all aspects of the business. He could do it again, and he could do a better job since it would be _his_. Really and truly his.

There was a knock on the door, and Tommy figured it was probably Paddy. With a sigh, he rolled off the floor and went to the door. He pulled it open and was surprised to see not only Paddy, but Brendan, and behind him were Bryan Callen and Sam Sheridan, the commentators. Tommy felt the same fury he'd felt the day before stirring in his gut as he glared at them.

Sam didn't miss it and lifted his hands in the air. "Look," he began. "I came to apologize. I was _given_ that information about your girlfriend and we meant no harm."

"That's fuckin' hilarious," Tommy said icily.

"Honestly," Bryan chimed in. "Marty Brown was supposed to give us the scoop on your and Brendan's relationship these days – he was prepaid by the network for that interview. So when he didn't get that, he got something else."

Tommy stared at him levelly, and merely blinked. "And fuck whoever he hurt in the process, right?"

Bryan sighed and shook his head. "No, of course not," he said. "Look, is she around? We'll make an apology to her."

"She's gone now," Tommy practically snarled. "So save your bullshit."

"Listen, we were just passing on the information," Sam said in a way that made Tommy want to break his neck. "People saw you two together, people saw you come get her from the crowd, people are curious. And everyone knows about the Jackson James case; no one knew she was the victim, though."

"Yeah," Tommy said darkly. "This little thing called protecting a victim's identity. Way to fuck that up."

"Look, we came down to talk to you and apologize," Sam went on. "To let you know we meant no malice, we just gave the information we were given. Period."

"And where was the apology?" Tommy demanded. "To me, this all sounds like a bunch of fuckin' excuses. Get the hell out of my face, and if you ever report on anything regarding my personal life every again I _will_ fuck you up. Both of you. When there won't be anyone to hold me back. Got it?"

Sam looked at him levelly. "You need to check that temper, Conlon," he said softly. "That's gonna get you in deep shit one day."

"Wanna make it today?" Tommy asked bluntly. He clenched his fists at his sides.

"Son," Paddy said warningly.

"Get out of here," Tommy said again, his voice quietly dangerous.

The commentators both swallowed, nodded, and turned and left.

"Let me guess," Tommy went on, glaring at their retreating backs but addressing his family. "Wilcox told them to come down and 'apologize' or they'd lose their jobs."

"Something like that," Brendan said wryly. "Tommy, you have to stop threatening people."

"I don't give a shit," Tommy countered, annoyed. "They're fucking with my life. And as far as Marty goes…"

"He is nowhere to be found at the moment," Brendan said. "I looked. He's always at these things but he must know he fucked up because he's not here. I even asked some of the fighters if they'd seen him and none of them have."

"How would he even have gotten that information about her?" Paddy asked.

Tommy shrugged. "He's a reporter," he said. "He's got contacts, and it's not like he has any scruples. I'm sure a few bills here and there to someone at the courthouse could get him whatever information he needed. Or he ran her name through some kind of database." He shook his head. "It was never about her anyway. He just did it to fuck with me. He probably was hoping for some big skeletons in her closet, something that could embarrass me if he shared it; he probably felt like he hit pay dirt with what he did find." Tommy bit his words off with disgust; screw the commentators. Marty Brown was a lowlife piece of shit – that's who he really wanted to get his hands on.

"Sorry about Sammi and her dad," Brendan said softly. "I know how much you wanted her here."

Tommy's guts twisted but he shrugged. "It's fine," he said evenly. "Her family needed her. She went." He turned his back on his brother and father, hoping they'd take the hint and not talk about her anymore. Now that she was gone, under these circumstances, Tommy really and truly missed her. Not having her here had put him in a completely different mood and mindset than the day before. He knew he couldn't afford to think of anything but the task at hand for the day, with three bouts ahead of him, but he couldn't stop.

:O:O:O:

The day only got worse from there.

Despite the "apologetic" manner in which Bryan and Sam had visited him at his dressing room, they were now on a mission to berate him and his performance as much as possible. They were seated right next to the cage, they had microphones, and they apparently thought he was deaf.

He was struggling against his first opponent of the day, one of the amateurs that had progressed from the first bout. The kid was wily, strong and fast, and Tommy had underestimated him when he'd studied footage of the kid in action. Either that, or this kid had made huge leaps and bounds in his training since the film was shot a few months ago. Regardless, he was putting up one hell of a fight and now in the fifth round without the TKO that he was so infamous for, Tommy was growing increasingly more pissed off.

"Well, the One-Hitter-Quitter certainly isn't living up to his name today, huh, Sam?" Bryan called out merrily behind him, and it took every ounce of self-control Tommy had not jump over the edge of the cage and strangle him. "Maybe it had something to do with the departure of his girlfriend early this morning."

"I did notice she is not in attendance today," Sam agreed. "Some fighters just can't handle having their significant others here with them at things like this."

_Are you fucking shitting me!_ Tommy bellowed in his mind.

The sudden surge of anger proved to be just what he needed to put the amateur down. He blocked the flurry of punches from the kid, shoved him back and leapt out of the way of a sweep kick, before feinting to the left and bringing his knee to the kid's face before jumping onto his back and putting him in a chokehold until finally, blessedly, he tapped out.

"Finally!" Sam called sarcastically. "That's fifteen minutes of my life I'll never get back."

"You know, you come to expect a certain standard of performance from a fighter," Bryan agreed. "And when he falls short, well…it's just boring."

Tommy whirled around and glared down at them, heaving breaths silently. They both looked back up at him, their faces wearing a mixture of slight fear and defiance. After a long moment, Tommy stalked out of the ring, out of the arena, and back to his dressing room. He refused to allow anyone to enter or speak to him until it was time for his next bout.

He didn't have to wait long; his next card was called sooner than he'd anticipated. He was facing off with Richie Marsden, one of the two most prolific fighters there, other than him. If he beat Richie, he would move on to fight against Clay "The Punisher" Cavasso in the final round. These two were the ones he had been most concerned about, but he just knew he sincerely needed to be at the very peak of his game right now. He couldn't be distracted by thinking about Sammi or paying attention to the two asshole commentators behind him.

He wanted to knock Richie out as soon as possible, but the man proved to be quite a challenge. He was a little faster than Tommy, though Tommy knew he was stronger, and he seemed to have tireless energy, where Tommy felt himself growing weary. Though whether it was mental exhaustion or physical was hard to tell. The first three rounds between them were brutal; they both shed blood, they both were getting lumped up, and both were trying to go for the knockout punch that would end this dance and allow them to progress to the final round. But Tommy refused to get knocked out; it had never happened, and it would never happen as long as he had any control at all over the situation.

Finally, in the fourth round, when Tommy's back was pressed against the mesh wiring of the cage, he tucked his chin and ducked a lightning fast left jab from Richie even faster, and as Richie's fist connected with the wiring, Tommy's shot up and out in a brutally forceful and knife-sharp uppercut. Richie's head snapped back, his eyes rolling, and blood and at least one tooth flew from his mouth as he stumbled backward and finally toppled over on his back.

"A knock out!" he heard either Bryan or Sam shouting from behind him. "Praise Jesus!"

"Not exactly a one-hit quit," the other taunted, "but it'll do. Tommy Conlon advances to the championship round and one step closer to that two-million dollar purse."

"And there he goes, storming out of the cage as he always does," the first taunted as Tommy slammed the door open and ran down the steps. "Can't be bothered to stay and appreciate the fact that he has fans."

Tommy snapped his head over and found them both looking at him. He gave them his middle finger and hustled off to his dressing room, wishing they would both get in that cage with him for five minutes.

:O:O:O:

In the end, it was Tommy against Clay "The Punisher" Cavasso.

Clay reminded him a lot of himself. He seemed to be very quiet, keeping to himself and avoiding the reporters and the fans. He also chose not to have any walk-out music, and was silently focused on Tommy the second they went eyes-on with each other.

Now, they studied each other across the ring intently. There was no real animosity, no anger, no misdirected violence. They both knew they were there to do a job, to get paid, and to leave it at that. Tommy intrinsically knew that Clay regarded him the way he regarded Clay – just another man there to go to work. Nothing more, nothing less.

That made Clay his most challenging opponent yet.

Five five-minute rounds, with a minute break between each round. The next thirty minutes wouldn't _define _Tommy's future, but with his recent decisions and overall goals, they damn sure would have a heavy impact. Thirty minutes until he found out which direction his life would take, unless he could get in a knock-out. However, he knew from the hours he'd spent intently studying Clay that it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, Clay, much like him, had never been knocked out. Clay did a whole bunch of knocking out, but he'd never been on the receiving end of it before.

The bell was rung, and Tommy and Clay went to war.

After the first couple of rounds Tommy knew that Clay was the last one standing with him for a reason. After ten minutes, Tommy was already tired, and he could tell Clay was flagging too. They were equally matched in strength, speed and skill. Tommy hated to admit it, but this match seemed like it was going to come down to pure luck – whoever was truly the best man, would win.

Tommy heard the shouts of the audience, heard the voices of the commentators, but he blocked out the details of what was being said. He could not focus on it, was unable to focus on anything but the man in front of him. However, as the third round went underway, he became aware of a figure at the base of the ring, hands clutching through the mesh wire of the cage.

Brendan.

He was right there, encouraging Tommy with wordless shouts. Sometimes he shouted words but Tommy couldn't make them out – he was too busy fighting against himself. Clay was like his mirror; they punched the same way, they predicted each other's moves accurately. It was turning into an exhaustive stalemate as they struggled to land punches and kicks and block others.

Tommy felt the air whoosh out of his lungs when Clay caught him with a surprising, punishing body shot to the lung the instant before the bell rang, signaling the end of the third round. Two left. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the cage, and he felt Brendan grab his ankle and shake.

"Wake up, little brother!" Brendan bellowed. "Be smart! This guy is like you, like me – he is always two steps ahead of you. Now _you _gotta be three steps ahead of him. You can do this! Now, go!"

Paddy had joined him and tended to the little cut that had erupted over his right eyebrow, and squirted some water in his mouth. The bell rang again for round four, and Tommy sighed inwardly and moved into the ring.

This round went better for him; he wasn't sure, but he thought that Clay's energy was depleting a bit more quickly than his own, and he used it to his advantage. Though he still wasn't able to get a knockout or a tap-out, he was able to land a great number of his punches and kicks, and gradually more bruises blossomed over Clay's body, his nose bloodied, and Tommy gave him a cut over his brow to match his own.

"That's it!" Brendan shouted enthusiastically. "That's it! He's getting tired, Tommy – pay attention to that. You notice how he's favoring that left side?"

Breathlessly, Tommy nodded.

"_Use_ that shit to your advantage," Brendan went on. "That last punch you threw in his kidney – that one humbled him. He keeps grabbing at his side. But you need to concentrate on those feet of his – he's fast as shit. Can you do that? You need to get him off his feet and get that tap-out. You're not gonna knock him out, that's clear – it ain't gonna happen. You need to get him to the ground and make him tap-out. Get him off his feet. You hear me, little brother?"

Tommy nodded again, and the bell rang.

"Round five!" Brendan was shouting as Tommy got to his feet. "Play time is over, Tommy. Bring this shit home!"

Tommy had been keeping a rough score in his head throughout the whole fight; he knew that in terms of points granted, it was probably a rough tie. The last round had worked well for him, but the first three rounds were mostly in Clay's favor. That was too close for comfort for Tommy; he couldn't not win. He just couldn't. He had a dragon to slay, and so he re-entered the battle.

The round was playing out almost like the last one had. Clay was hurting, no doubt; his side, where he'd taken a brutal body shot, was giving him fits. His arm would unconsciously go to clutch at it when his fists weren't guarding his face. Tommy hated to play dirty, but he knew a few more body shots would put Clay down for good.

He caught his last wind, and went on full attack-mode, launching a flurry of kicks and punches against his opponent. Clay caught him with a couple of surprises, including a sharp left hook to his ear which left him hearing ringing, and a hard roundhouse kick to his ribs which sent him reeling. If they weren't outright broken, they were cracked; Tommy knew that much as he doubled over, assailed by white-hot sharp pain.

"Get up, Tommy!" Brendan yelled. "Get up and put him down! End this!"

Tommy's last thought before launching himself back into the fight was how strange it was how clearly he could hear Brendan's voice, but everyone else sounded like they were speaking gibberish.

He flew at Clay and registered the look of tired defeat and acceptance in his eyes before he nodded back apologetically, almost imperceptibly. He rained blows on Clay, punching his body in places he knew would hurt, throwing an elbow into the back of his head, kicking his knees out from under him. When Clay was on his knees, Tommy lashed out with a stiff sharp jab, then doubled over in agony when Clay buried his fist in his gut. As Tommy fell forward, Clay chopped down hard on his shoulder. Tommy caught his weight on his hands and threw out a knee, managing to break Clay's nose, before they both toppled over.

The bell rang. It was done.

"Tommy!" Brendan shouted, moving around the ring to his side. "Tommy, you okay?"

"Good," Tommy gasped out. "Great."

"Just hang on," Brendan said, then disappeared. A moment later, he and Paddy were in the ring, hauling him to his feet as Clay's people did the same to him. Paddy dragged him to a corner of the ring to minister to his injuries.

"Ribs," Tommy croaked. "Broke or cracked."

"Tough little sonofabitch, that kid Clay," Paddy said, pressing a Q-tip dipped in alcohol to the cut above his brow. "But you got this in the bag, Tommy. I'm proud o' you, son."

"You are a fucking beast," Brendan said admiringly. "A fucking beast." He ruffled his little brother's hair affectionately.

Several moments passed as the judges tallied up their points to score their fight. Tommy knew better than to expect anything but he felt confident about his performance. He'd roughly scored both himself and Clay in each round and he felt that ultimately he was in the lead for points. Maybe not by a huge margin, but he led. It came down to simple mathematics where the scoring was concerned, and he waited for his name to be called. It wasn't out of cockiness, it wasn't arrogance – it was what it was.

So he was utterly dismayed and shocked when he heard the name of Clay "The Punisher Cavasso being hailed the winner and Champion of the first annual Ithaca tournament, taking home every dime of the two-million dollar purse. Clay's people rushed into the ring, his family, his wife, screaming ecstatically as the entire arena erupted into noise. Clay himself looked completely confused, his eyes flying to Tommy.

He was stunned.

"No way!" Brendan was shouting angrily. "No way! I counted the points! No fucking way!" He stared at Tommy in disbelief, who could only look dully back at his brother.

"This ain't right!" Paddy shouted, pointing at the judges. "You know this ain't right!"

Tommy looked over to where the judges were; all three of them were looking at him, talking behind their hands. Then, simultaneously, they each looked away and got up from their table.

"Hey!" Brendan rushed to wall of the cage, shouting at the judges through the wire mesh. "Hey! What the fuck are you doing? You know this is wrong!"

One of the judges stopped in his tracks and glanced coolly back at Brendan. The judge glanced around then chuckled before walking off.

"Goddamn it!" Paddy raged.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Tommy muttered. Without waiting for any commentary from his father or his brother, Tommy made his way to the entrance of the ring, then turned suddenly. He crossed the ring to where Clay stood, being interviewed by Bryan Callen, still looking utterly confused.

"Good job, man," Tommy said quietly to Clay. Clay looked at him, opening his mouth to speak. Whatever he wanted to say never came out as if he thought better of it.

"Thanks," he managed, shaking Tommy's hand. "Thank you. Hey – you, um, you put up a hell of a fight."

Tommy gave one nod of acknowledgment and walked out of the ring.

_What a fucking bust_, he thought angrily, then chided himself for being a sore loser. He was just disappointed, he knew. He'd had major plans for that money, but it was nothing that needed to end those plans. They would just be redirected and slightly postponed. It wasn't even so much that he felt like he was invincible – he'd lost before, and he'd taken it like the man he was. But something about _this _situation didn't sit well with him. It had been a close fight, to be sure, but it hadn't been _that_ close.

The uneasy feeling that grew in his gut intensified, and doubt started to worry at his brain. When he was back in his dressing room, he glanced at his big brother's face in the mirror and saw the expression of confusion and unease on his own face mirrored on Brendan's.

"Something about that seem utterly fucked up to you?" Brendan finally asked, folding his arms. "I scored all your rounds in my head. Both you guys. And you came out on top, Tommy. There's no way that kid won. There's just _no way_."

Tommy shrugged, pulling off his wraps. He didn't feel like talking about. He didn't feel like doing anything right now but going to sleep. He winced as he checked his face out. Besides the cut that didn't seem to be able to stop bleeding, he had a lump on his cheekbone and his lip was slightly split at the corner. His body ached and his neck and shoulders were sore. His ribs hurt like hell and drawing in breaths was painful. He knew he'd need to see the medic and get them taped before he left.

Paddy walked into the room holding a cold bottle of water, and handed it to Tommy. He nodded his thanks and drained it quickly, taking the two ibuprofen his father handed him as well. He glanced at Brendan again and felt a surge of annoyance at the absently concerned look on Brendan's face as he stared at the floor.

"Let it go, Bren," he said impatiently. "Kid won. Apparently fair and square."

"Bullshit," Paddy grumbled. "Fair and square, my ass."

"Pop, please," Tommy muttered. "It is what it is, now." He looked at Brendan. "Right?"

His older brother met his eyes, and Tommy saw deep suspicion and something else in them, as though a light bulb had just gone off in his head.

"Yeah," Brendan said lightly. "It is what it is." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began punching buttons furiously.

"Who are you texting all pissed off like that?" Tommy asked absently, wincing as pain tore through his abdomen when he tried to draw a deep breath.

"Uh, just – just Tess," Brendan said quickly. Tommy's eyes narrowed at his brother. Just then the door flew open and Tess rushed inside.

"That was fast," Tommy said coolly, noting the look of near-panic on Brendan's face at the sight of his wife.

She looked at him in total confusion. "Huh?"

"Nothing, babe," Brendan said quickly. "Listen – we'll get out of your hair. Pop – you ready to leave after this? Tommy – you got your car, right? Can you even drive? Pop could drive your car while you rest. You want to come over for dinner tonight? Hang out with us, with the girls?"

Tommy shook his head, stepping into his Nikes. "Not tonight, but thanks. I've got somewhere to be in the morning and I have a ways to drive."

"Where?" Brendan asked curiously. Tommy glanced up at his brother.

"New York City."


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Whoa, who knew you guys would be getting all passionate and whatnot about this story? :-) I love it, and I appreciate all of you guys so much. I hope you will find some answers to your questions (demands?) in this chapter (heavy on the fluff - hope that's okay). Besos!**

**Chapter 31**

Sammi sat outside Court Room # 27 on Monday morning in the New York City Criminal Court. She was dressed in her severe, crisp black skirt suit, low black heels, with her hair pulled back into a bun and no makeup. Her sweating hands were clasped tightly in her lap, and her feet pumped against the floor as nerves hummed inside her.

She glanced up, seeing her mother, father, sisters, brothers-in-law, and Uncle Gino standing before her. Her nieces and nephews were dressed like they were going to mass and were all uncharacteristically quiet as they held onto their mothers' hands. Bunz sat next to her, reaching out intermittently to pat her knee.

Her whole family was there; everyone who was important to her.

_Almost everyone._

Sammi locked eyes with her father and he gave her a slight nod, which she returned with a small smile. Things were different between them now, after their talk in her hotel room. She knew she hadn't been able to succinctly summarize for Tommy in a text message what had happened, but it had changed things permanently between her and her father; solidified them.

She'd been fuming on the elevator ride up to the room, needing a few moments of silence to gather herself. She'd been grateful for the other patrons in the elevator to prevent her from losing her temper with her father. She had led him down the hall to her room and as soon as the door was shut, she'd lit into him.

"That was completely out of line, Pop!" she'd exclaimed, whirling to face him and putting her hands on her hips. "First of all, he had _nothing_ to do with my story getting leaked, and second of all, he didn't deserve you talking to him like that! He's done nothing but be a good man to me and try to make sure I've been okay, and you –"

"Sammi, save it," her father had ordered, folding his arms. "I got a phone call early this morning from some guy telling me that Tommy had leaked the story to the press to get more attention for the fights. What did you expect me to do? Just sit back and let that happen? Let him get away with that? Hell, no!"

"_What?_" Sammi had practically shrieked. "That's _complete_ bullshit! He _never_ did that! He _would _never do that to me! Who called you?"

"I-I don't know," her father had admitted. "I didn't catch his name. I just got so pissed off –"

Sammi had sighed, digging her fingers into her temples. Between Colt and Marty Brown, there wasn't a great deal of variety as to who the culprit could be.

"Listen, Dad," she'd said finally. "Tommy had _nothing_ to do with the information that was leaked out. You had no right to come screaming up to Buffalo, curse him out, and yank me around like I'm a child. I promised him I would stay here and support him, and that's just what I'm going to do."

Her father had looked at her for a long time, his face expressionless, and Sammi had felt tension coil in her stomach. She was a woman grown, this was true, but her father had an unfailing ability to unnerve her. Her, and her sisters. Although they were all in their thirties or nearing them, they could each be reduced to trembling, teary messes with a certain look or word from their father.

So it was with incredible shock that Sammi had watched her father slowly lower himself to sit on the edge of her bed as his face crumpled into tears. All of the fight went out of her in a whoosh.

"Pop," she'd gasped.

He'd lifted a hand. "Sam, I'm sorry," he choked. "I just – I always need to make sure you're okay."

"Dad," she'd said softly, going to his side and kneeling on the floor. She grabbed for one of his large, weathered hands. "What made you think I wasn't? I know what you heard – but why didn't you just call me?"

"It's my job to protect you," her father had said as tears coursed down his face. "It's my job as your father and I failed you before. I'll never let it happen again." Sammi's heart had wrenched at his words and she sat back on her heels, helpless to do anything but hold his hand. She'd never seen her father cry before and seeing it now broke her heart. "Everything I said to Tommy – I could have, should have been sayin' to myself. I couldn't keep you safe back then. But I gotta do what I can to keep you safe now. You, your sisters. That's what a father is supposed to do." He'd buried his face in his free hand as his shoulders shook.

"Daddy," Sammi had said, her voice cracking. "Dad, don't. It wasn't your fault."

"It was," her father had said, a choked sob escaping his throat. "It was. You're my little girl, and I couldn't protect you."

Sammi had shot up onto the bed beside him and thrown her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. "Don't you do that," she warned, her low voice shaking. "Don't you do that. What that man did – none of us could control that. It was going to happen whether you were there or not. I believe it was my fate that it happened. Don't do this, Dad."

Her father had wiped a hand down his face, brushing away his tears and Sammi had leaned her head on his shoulder. He patted one of her hands clumsily as they stayed that way for a while. Finally, her father had sighed.

"He didn't deserve that, baby," he admitted softly, and Sammi knew he meant Tommy. "I should – I should go apologize."

Sammi had kissed his cheek. "You should, but it can wait until we get back to Pittsburgh. Okay? Let me get my stuff packed up."

Mr. Carnevale had looked up at her in surprise. "You're not stayin'?"

Sammi shook her head sadly, silently forfeiting the war she'd intended to have. "I – I should be with you guys right now," she had replied quietly. "This is a hard time for you and Ma and everyone else like it is for me. We should be together. As a family."

And so, she had reluctantly packed her things and left with her father, casting a long look back at the bed she'd shared with Tommy the night before as she shut the door behind her. She had sent Tommy a text, hating herself for leaving him, but she knew how much her parents needed her. She had known that her ordeal had hurt them worse than it had hurt her, but seeing her father break down in front of her had torn her heart. Her father had always been loud and boisterous, one of the sources of her strength, and to see that strength crumble before her had humbled her. She knew Tommy could relate to that, but she still hated that she was leaving him on this day. She'd hoped he could forgive her.

She knew the outcome of Ithaca now, and was terribly sad and angry over it – something didn't sit well with her about the outcome. She hadn't talked to Tommy last night; he hadn't returned her texts and she couldn't blame him. She knew she'd broken her promise to him to stay and he was probably incredibly disappointed in her. She hoped he would be willing to talk in person when she got home tomorrow.

But for right now, she couldn't think of anything else aside from what she needed to do in a few moments. She'd caught a glimpse of him, of Jackson James, earlier when they were all making their way upstairs to their courtroom. No one else had seen him, and no one had seen her see him. But she saw him, just the same, and it terrified her. He looked exactly the same and his cold, dead dark eyes had bored into her. She couldn't be sure, but she'd thought he'd smiled at her.

The door to the courtroom opened up and a hush fell over her family.

"Sammi Carnevale?" the female bailiff asked, looking at her. Sammi nodded and slowly ,unsteadily rose to her feet. "Please come with me. You've been called as a witness in the State versus Jackson James trial."

Sammi swallowed hard and looked around at her family. She saw concern, fear, and love on their faces. Bunz reached out and squeezed her hand, and Sammi returned it weakly.

"We'll be waiting right in the next room, baby," her father promised. He pointed down the hall. "That one there. Okay?"

"Okay, Pop," Sammi replied. She turned and followed the bailiff into courtroom, her stomach tightening with every step.

The room was small and had hard wooden floors. There were a few rows of benches behind two long tables, set in opposition of each other on either side of the aisle that led from the area she was standing now to a set of doors at the back of the room. There was a judge's bench and to the side of that, were a dozen men and women she'd never seen before. There were a couple of lawyers present, to hear her testimony and question her. There were guards and a couple of NYPD officers.

And there was the man who had done everything in his power to torture her and end her life.

Sammi stood rooted in place, unable to break the gaze she held with Jackson James. He wasn't smiling now but his eyes were as dark and dead as they had been before. They were pure evil. Her head began to spin and waves of nausea roiled through her stomach. Sweat beaded her skin and her pulse accelerated to a level that left her shaking and breathless.

"Miss Carnevale?" the judge called gently from his booth. Sammi turned her eyes toward him, seeing a white-haired, grandfatherly face peering at her from behind a pair of spectacles. "Would you please come forward?"

Sammi turned her eyes back toward Jackson James, and gagged. She clapped a hand to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears involuntarily.

"Bailiff, please escort Miss Carnevale to the restroom," the judge said quickly. "We'll hold briefly for the witness to compose herself."

Sammi pulled away from the bailiff. "I got it," she squeaked. She pressed her lips together firmly and rushed out of the courtroom. Her family must already have moved to the waiting room down the hall. Sammi hurried down the corridor to the women's restroom and burst into a stall, dropping to her knees as she gagged violently again. Nothing came up, not even bile, and tears streamed down her face as she gagged again.

"Goddammit," she mumbled, cupping her face in her hands as she struggled to catch her breath. She leaned her head against the cold tile wall of the stall and gradually the urge to vomit passed. She got shakily to her feet and left the stall, moving to the counter. She winced at her reflection – all of the color had drained from her olive complexion, even from her lips, and she looked as waxy and pale as a corpse. She leaned over to splash water on her face and then took a long drink. When she felt her pulse calming down, and her breathing regulating, she took a deep breath and straightened her clothing. She left the bathroom and walked back up the hallway to the side door of the courtroom she'd entered into earlier. For a moment, she paused with her hand on the door, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath as her pulse threatened to start racing again.

"Sam."

She whirled at the sound of her name spoken by a familiar and missed voice, and her jaw dropped.

Tommy stood awkwardly down the hallway, dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a navy blue button-down shirt. His face held a few cuts and bruises from the fight, but his recently cut hair was tamed, his clothes were pressed and he was wearing dull black leather shoes. He looked at her for a long time before he offered her a slight smile.

She flew toward him.

He let out a soft grunt as she threw herself into his arms and winced, holding her back from him slightly as her arms started to squeeze around him. She looked up at him in confusion as he hissed softly, his face contorted in pain.

"What?" she whispered.

"Sorry," he murmured back, giving her a small half-smile. "Three cracked ribs."

Sammi gasped, her hands going lightly to his side. "Jesus, Tommy, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he said softly. He reached up to rest a hand on the back of her neck. "You all right?"

She looked up into his eyes. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. She shook her head, suddenly feeling the need to explain. "Listen, I'm sorry I ran out on you yesterday. I heard about what happened. The news says there's a major fan backlash against the judges – that they cheated, that someone – Tommy, I'm _so_ sorry I wasn't there –"

"Stop it," Tommy said. "I don't give a shit about that tournament right now. I'm here for you."

Sammi bit her lip to stop it from shaking, fisting her hands unconsciously into the material of his shirt at his sides. "Thanks," she said tremulously.

"Ow," Tommy grunted softly, catching her hand that was twisting into his bad side. She dropped it immediately.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped. "How did – how did you get here? You didn't drive all this way like this, did you?"

"Bren," Tommy replied, half-smiling again. "I tried to get him to fuck off and go home with his wife but he refused. He sent Paddy home with Tess and drove me out here in my car. He dropped me off. He would have come in, but I told him I didn't know if that would be too overwhelming for you. So he said he's got a few business calls to make in the meantime."

"Tell him thanks for me," Sammi said. She shook her head mournfully at Tommy. "You should be resting."

He shrugged. "Told you I'd be here for you," he said simply. He smirked a little. "Even risk your pops beatin' my ass if he sees me here." He looked around. "Where's your family, anyway?"

Sammi pointed over her shoulder down the hall. "They're in a waiting room down that way."

The door opened behind her and the bailiff poked her head out. "Miss Carnevale, are you ready now?" Her eyes glanced over Tommy questioningly. "This is a closed court. Your friend may wait out here or with your family down the hall."

"I'll be right there," Tommy said, nodding toward the bench just to the left of the door. He took her hand. "Come on."

They walked the dozen or so steps toward the courtroom. The bailiff averted her eyes and ducked back into the courtroom to give them some privacy. She used her foot to keep the door slightly ajar for Sammi.

"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered as she caught sight of her attacker's profile in the room. Her stomach immediately seized up again.

Tommy tugged on her hand and made her look at him. "You have to do this," he said softly. "You have to do it for you and for the women he killed, and for the women he might kill if you _don't _do this. Sam, don't let this guy have a hold on your life for one more day. Put this shit to bed, _now._ He couldn't kill you, couldn't destroy you, and he never will." Tommy grabbed her chin and made her look up at him when she tried to look away. "He doesn't define you. What he did to you doesn't define you. You told me yourself – you're no victim. Now show me." His pewter eyes bored into hers intensely. "_Show me_. You copy?"

His tone was harsh, terse and brusque, but Sammi could still hear real caring in it. It strengthened her, made her stiffen her spine and hold her shoulders back. She pulled gently out of his grasp and lifted her chin of her own accord. She looked him in the eye and nodded.

He returned her nod and reached out to pull the door open for her. He looked at her expectantly, and Sammi refused to let him down twice, so she entered the room again. The bailiff nodded at her and hovered a hand over the small of her back, gently guiding her toward the witness stand. Sammi glanced back at Tommy as the door began to shut. He didn't nod, smile, or otherwise change his stoic expression, but everything she needed to hear or feel, she saw within his eyes. She turned away as the door closed and stepped onto the stand.

:O:O:O:

The bailiff opened the door for her and Sammi headed for it, her knees wobbling. Her testimony had easily been the most difficult thing she'd done. It was even worse, in some weird way, than the actual attack itself. She had been required to relive the ordeal in detail to a crowd of strangers and in front of her attacker. Jackson James had remained expressionless and motionless during her testimony and it had unnerved her completely. There were a few times she faltered, unable to go on, but she thought of Tommy, heard his words, believed the truth in them, and made herself carry on.

But she was immensely proud of herself. For the most part, she remained stoic and calm, answering all the questions asked following her testimony. The cross-examination by the defense attorney had been difficult at best, absolutely appalling at worst. Jackson James' defense was that he was criminally insane and therefore had no real knowledge or idea of what it was that he was doing. The defense attorney used Sammi's testimony to try to further his point that some of those actions – forcing Sammi to hold him after she'd been raped and beaten – showed how unstable and out of touch with reality he was. Sammi wondered what his sentence would be. While she didn't contest that _any_ rapist was a madman and a sociopath, she felt that her attacker knew precisely what he was doing, and said so. The prosecution supported her claims by pointing to Jackson James' original statement to the police – that he'd been following her for several weeks before going through with the attack. It was pre-meditated, they said, and could therefore not be the random act of a man insane.

Sammi hoped he would receive the harshest penalty possible. For now, though, she just wanted to get the hell out of there before she had a real breakdown.

She walked straight out of the courtroom into Tommy's arms, being careful of his injured side, and hugged his good one. She felt him press his lips against the top of her head as he held her firmly to his side.

"You good?" he asked softly. She didn't look up at him, but nodded against his chest. He kissed the top of her head again. "Let's go see your family," he said lightly. "They're waitin' for you."

Now she did look up at him. "You – you want to come?" she asked hesitantly.

He glanced down at her. "Yes. Come on."

They walked down the hall toward the waiting room where her family was and knocked on the door. After a moment, her mother pulled the door open, a look of concerned expectancy on her face that changed to surprise when she saw Tommy.

"Tommy!" she exclaimed, and glanced over her shoulder at her husband meaningfully. She turned back around to face Sammi and Tommy and reached out to squeeze his hand. "Look, everyone. Tommy's here."

Tommy nodded at the chorus of greetings, and Sammi tensed up when she saw her father get to her feet. She knew that he knew he had been wrong for his treatment of Tommy based on their talk, but she was still nervous about seeing the two of them come together.

"Tommy," he said calmly by way of greeting. He glanced at Sammi. "Can we, uh, step outside into the hallway for a chat? Sammi, why don't you go on in and get a cup of coffee and hug your mother or something."

"No," she said stubbornly, tightening her arms around Tommy's waist. He hissed in pain accordingly and she loosened her hold. "Shit. I'm sorry."

"What's the matter?" Mr. Carnevale asked, lifting his eyebrows in mild surprise.

"Just a little injury from the tournament, sir," Tommy managed, his voice roughened slightly from pain. "I'll be all right."

"Three cracked ribs," Sammi informed her father.

Mr. Carnevale sighed and reached behind him to shut the door to the waiting room. "You need anything, kid? You been to the doctor yet?"

"I saw the medic at the tournament. He taped my ribs for me. I'll be fine, sir." Tommy straightened up and looked her father in the eye. "You wanted to talk, sir?"

"Yeah," Mr. Carnevale said, sounding defeated. He sighed again. "Listen, Tommy. You didn't deserve what I said to you yesterday. I was in a rage, I was panicked. I had gotten some anonymous call telling me you leaked the story to the press, about Sammi, and I just lost it –"

Tommy's calm expression didn't change, but Sammi didn't miss the way his jaw clenched in anger. "Sir, can I ask who called you?"

"I don't know," Mr. Carnevale said. "Just some guy. He didn't give me his name. Why, you think you know who it was?"

"I have an idea, sir," Tommy said quietly. "And it was nothing against Sammi. It was done to hurt me, sir. Sammi was just an innocent bystander, if you will. I'm really sorry she got mixed up in it. The network is getting fined for the airing the information and the commentators are getting suspended from working for a while. There was a reporter and then the manager I fired who were involved as well. I think they're the ones responsible for digging up the information and giving it to the commentators."

"You fired your manager?" Mr. Carnevale asked, confused. "Why would you do that?"

"He didn't take care of Sammi, like I told him I needed him to when I was working," Tommy said simply. "I believed he'd look out for her, and he didn't. So I fired him."

"Dad," Sammi said gently. "I told you he was a good man. You don't need to worry about me with him. I'm always going to be okay."

Mr. Carnevale cleared his throat and extended his hand. "You are a good man, Tommy," he said quietly. "Again, I'm really sorry for the things I said."

Tommy immediately reached out to clasp his hand and shook his head. "No worries, sir. I'd have done the same thing."

Sammi smiled at both men, her heart filling with a sweet emotion she didn't have a name for. Mr. Carnevale cleared his throat again and Sammi realized he was fighting tears. _Who knew Pop was really a teddy bear?_ she thought, patting his arm.

"Well, you have to rush off, Tommy?" Mr. Carnevale was saying. "We're going to visit some family while we're up here, have Sunday dinner on a Monday before we head home. Would you like to come?"

"Oh, thank you, sir, but I have my brother waiting for me," Tommy said. "He drove me here as a favor. He's got to get home to his wife and kids."

"Tommy needs to rest, too," Sammi said, concerned about his ribs.

Mr. Carnevale nodded. "I understand. You get some rest, kid." He pulled open the door to the waiting room and gave Tommy a half-smile. "You're all right with me, Tommy." He disappeared inside, leaving Sammi and Tommy alone.

Tommy smiled at the look of happiness on her face. "Your pops is a good man."

"Yes, he is," Sammi said, gingerly hugging his waist again. "So are you. Thank you for being here."

"You're welcome." He kissed her forehead. "I better get going. Brendan is waiting."

"Tell him hi," she said softly. "And don't forget to thank him for me." She tilted her face and pressed up on her toes and swept her lips over his. His hands massaged at her shoulders as he kissed her back. Finally, she sighed and pulled away from him, her hand trailing in his.

"Enjoy your family," Tommy said. He smirked a little. "Feel free to bring me back some of that homemade food."

Sammi chuckled. "There will be plenty of that, I'm sure. I will."

She moved toward the door of the waiting room and glanced over her shoulder. For a brief moment, the hallway receded and she only saw him – strong, quiet, thoughtful. Possibly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, and not just on the outside. He constantly went out of his way to prove himself to her, to prove himself _worthy _of her, all the time. She was beginning to wonder if she were worthy of _him. _She bit her lip and her cheeks grew hot with the color that was rushing into them. She felt the urge to tell him something suddenly, something urgent, something she really needed him to know. It was on the tip of her tongue, and it wouldn't go away.

He looked back at her, cocking his head curiously. "What?" he asked.

She looked down, pulling the door open to stall while she worked up her courage. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door until they turned white and she bit her lip so hard she tasted copper on her tongue.

"I just –" She faltered as nerves overtook her. She thought about copping out then, saying something else. She didn't know how the game was played when it came to stuff like this; she was afraid she was about to fuck up big time.

"You just what?" his voice was quiet, calm, and Sammi forced herself to look him in the eye again. She found her courage in his eyes in that moment and remembered when he'd told her he didn't like playing games.

"I just…love you," she said simply, in a tiny voice. "That's all." She held his gaze for a brief moment, seeing an odd mix of emotions coming into his eyes as his mouth opened in surprise. When she couldn't bear the look on his face anymore, she slipped inside the room, pulling the door shut behind her and feeling terrified, brave, uncertain, and happy all the same time.

"You look like you're going to pass out," Nik said, suddenly appearing at her side. She took her baby sister's arm and led her to a chair. "What's the matter? Are you okay? Do you need water?"

Despite the emotions warring inside her and her curiosity if Tommy was still standing on the other side of the door, Sammi shook her head. Even if she'd just fucked up monumentally, she'd been forthright, brave and voluntarily honest…with him and with herself.

"I'm good," she said, and meant it.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Muse is flowing strong here, guys. I don't know how many more chapters we have left but the end is near...thank you for staying with me through this ride. I really appreciate each and every one of you for reading and reviewing this story. Muah.**

**Chapter 32**

Tommy rarely ever watched television, but now it seemed he couldn't stop.

He was finally back at his own place after spending the night at Brendan's house when they'd gotten in from New York. He'd been planning to drive home to his apartment last night, but Tess had all but threatened bodily harm if he didn't agree to stay with them. As a result, he'd had a fuss made over him by his sister-in-law and his nieces, and slept over in the guest bedroom. He'd tried to sneak out early that morning but had been caught by Emily, who had then woken up everyone else in the house and he hadn't been permitted to leave until after breakfast.

His pain was manageable after swallowing a dose of ibuprofen. He refused anything stronger, not wanting to potentially head down the same path involving painkillers he was on last year. Before going home, he'd stopped by his own physician to get a more thorough exam and to get his ribs re-taped. His doctor persuaded him to go home and rest, and sternly advised that any exercise was out of the question for at least the next four weeks. Tommy was only too glad to take a little bit of a break, although he knew it wouldn't be a full four weeks before he was back to some form of physical movement. It just wasn't in him to be idle for that long, with or without an injury.

Now, he was seated on the couch in his living room, intently watching ESPN. He was surprised at the amount of coverage there was not only about Ithaca in general, but specifically about the three notable situations he'd personally been involved in. There was a feature about Sammi and how her situation had been shared with the public. There were snippets of interviews with various MMA fans, both from Ithaca and not, and the general outcry was that whoever had leaked her story to the press should be soundly punished. Connected to that story immediately was the story of how he had fired his manager on the first day of the tournament. Apparently there were mixed reactions from the fans – some thought he was a chump for firing his manager over a girl. Others thought he was a perfect gentleman and made the right choice, while still other believed that the principle was sound, but the execution was a bad idea. Tommy personally didn't give a rat's ass one way or the other how anyone felt about it; he was just as comfortable now with his decision to sever ties with Colt as he had been in the moment he'd made it.

The third story from Ithaca involving him had to do with his shocking loss. The entire MMA community was in an uproar. According to the reports and eye witness accounts, Tommy had been the clear winner and the general consensus was that something was definitely fishy. Clay Cavasso had been contacted for interviews several times, the story's reporter said, but had yet to comment. Bradley Wilcox, the creator of Ithaca, also had declined public comment "as yet", although the possibility of him addressing the matter was still open.

Tommy turned the television off before throwing the remote onto the couch beside him. He sighed and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain tore through his side. He leaned back and lifted his hands above his head, staring off into space, deep in thought. He'd always known Colton Boyd to be a bit unscrupulous, but he had taken things to a surprising level. Tommy wholeheartedly believed that anyone was capable of anything, but he'd never quite gotten the malicious vibe from Colt. In the span of two days, Colt had humiliated Sammi, tried to break them up by involving her father, and more than likely had something to do with Tommy losing the tournament. He realized that there was little that could be done about it now, but his concern was trying to predict from where Colt's next attack would come. He didn't believe for a second that Colt was through with him, but just how far he planned to take things, Tommy couldn't be sure. Unfortunately, Colt knew quite a bit about Tommy's personal life, from where Paddy lived to where Brendan lived, and he could probably find out pretty easily, if he didn't already know, where Sammi lived. He at least had Mr. Carnevale's cell phone number. Tommy rubbed a hand over his face as worry gnawed at his gut. Things could get really, really ugly if Colt wanted them to.

Tommy glanced at his cell phone sitting on the coffee table before him and picked it up. He scrolled through the messages he'd exchanged with Sammi the previous night.

_Hey, you. You make it back ok?_

_Hi. Yes, we got back pretty late but we stayed too long at my uncle's house in Brooklyn. Food, wine. You know how we do._

_I do. Feeling ok?_

_Yes. How about you – are you taking care of those ribs?_

_As much as possible. Tess won't let me leave the house so I'm stuck here overnight._

_Ha. You're trying to make it sound like a bad thing but I know you're happy to be around them and the girls._

_I may or may not be involved in the watching of some animated Disney movie called Cinderella with two little girls right now. I digress. Are you back at home now?_

_Sort of. My mother is "fretting" (her word) over my mental state following the trial, so she and my father are making me stay with them tonight so I don't have to be alone. I keep telling them I like to be alone but they won't buy it. So, I get to sleep on their couch tonight. Jealous?_

_You live across a courtyard…?_

_I know this. But sometimes you just have to do things to make your parents happy. I knew it was serious when my father personally went to get both Rocky AND his litter box and bring them over. How do I argue with that?_

_You definitely don't. Well, enjoy your couch while I enjoy my bed (in your face). I'm glad you're doing ok. I'll call you tomorrow._

_Ok. Get some rest. Talk to you later._

He sighed as he read them over and over. They were humorous and lighthearted like they always were, except now there was this enormous elephant in the room of their relationship.

Sammi had said she loved him.

He could hear her speaking the words clearly in his mind, see her face as she spoke them. He saw the blush in her cheeks, the tremble in her hands, her nervousness, but he could also _feel_ that emotion coming off her. She'd taken another huge step with him – officially putting her heart in his hands.

And what had he done? He'd stood there like a mute asshole, staring at her, until she disappeared into the room. Then he'd turned on his heel and walked out of the courthouse and acted like nothing was different.

But it was. It was totally different now.

He didn't know how he felt about it. He felt _something_, but he didn't know how to identify it. No girl had ever said that to him before, at least not in a way that he took seriously. But he'd known Sammi had meant what she'd said. He didn't know what to think of it. He didn't exactly know how he felt about her, either. He felt some strong emotion when he thought about her. He wanted her; he really liked having her be a part of his life. She was smart, sweet, kind. Beautiful. He wasn't interested in seeing any other women; Saturday night had solidified his belief that Sammi was it for him. But he wasn't sure if that was love or not. He'd never been in love before and generally found the entire idea of it to be ridiculous. Brendan was the one who fell in love and then made his entire life be about that love and the girl…not him.

_Oh, is that what we're telling ourselves now?_ his mind jeered sarcastically.

Before he could get truly annoyed with himself, his phone went off in his hand. He glanced at it, and saw that it was Brendan.

"I just saw you," he said by way of greeting. Brendan laughed, and Tommy noticed that it was a real laugh, full of mirth. He wondered what in the hell had gotten up his big brother's ass to put him in such a good mood when everything was going to shit around them.

"I know, but I'm wondering if you can meet me downtown for lunch," Brendan said. "I want to talk to you about something."

"What?" Tommy asked suspiciously.

"Just get your ass downtown, okay? The sandwich place. Half an hour. Go." He hung up without another word, leaving Tommy no room to continue to argue the matter.

He lingered on the couch for another moment before finally heaving himself up carefully, holding his side tightly with his arm. He trudged into his bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, stepping into the first pair of sneakers he saw and grabbing a baseball cap. He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, then grabbed his phone and keys and headed out the door.

As he drove into downtown Pittsburgh, he heard Sammi's mocking comment about how much more he was driving lately. He realized it was true; before he'd met her he always relied on public transportation despite the vehicle sitting in his garage. Now, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd ridden the bus, much less _where _his bus pass actually was.

He found a spot across the street from the sandwich deli Brendan had mentioned and started across the street. When he pulled the door open, he saw Brendan standing at the counter, getting ready to pay for his order. He smiled at his younger brother when he saw him.

"Hey, bro," he greeted. "Got you a turkey club, no mayo, extra tomato. Right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Tommy said, glaring at his brother suspiciously. "Bren, what's this all about?"

Brendan paid for their lunches and accepted a tray with three large brown paper bags on them. Tommy wondered who the third one was for and glanced around for Tess. Maybe she'd agreed to meet them for lunch, too.

"Come on," Brendan said with a grin.

Tommy followed him toward the back of the deli, passing tables and booths full of people. There was one table in the corner near the big bay window. Tommy saw a man sitting in one of the three chairs at the table, his back to them. He was dark haired and dressed in what looked to be an expensive navy suit. Brendan strolled right over to the table and set the tray down.

"Oh, thanks, man," the man said. Brendan grinned down at him and pointed over his shoulder. The man followed the movement and turned, and Tommy felt genuine surprise as he recognized him.

Bradley Wilcox.

Tommy's eyes shot to his brother as Wilcox got to his feet. He was much taller and bigger than he appeared on television and Tommy eyed him as he extended his hand. Finally, Tommy shook his hand.

"Brendan?" he asked his brother uncertainly.

"Hey there, Tommy," Wilcox said. "It's great to finally meet you. I'm sorry things ended the way they did at the tournament. Why don't you have a seat, and some lunch, and we'll talk?"

Brendan only grinned at him and pointed to the only other available chair. Tommy took it, glancing between both men in disbelief. He waited until the bags with their lunches had been passed around.

"What's a big-time event organizer doing with the peasants?" he demanded, maybe a little too harshly. Brendan kicked him hard under the table but Wilcox only laughed.

"Is that how you think I look at you?" he asked. "I don't. I'm sorry if I haven't been very visible. My work keeps me pretty busy."

"Too busy to attend your own tournaments and keep an eye on things to make sure they're handled fairly?" Tommy asked bluntly, folding his arms and leaving his bag untouched. Wilcox considered his words as he took an enormous bite from his sandwich. He nodded as he chewed.

"Basically," he conceded. "You do have a point. It's not intentional, though."

"So what's up?" Tommy asked, shrugging negligently. "You didn't call me down here to eat sandwiches and bullshit."

"Jesus, Tommy," Brendan said in annoyance.

Wilcox locked eyes with Brendan and grinned. "You weren't kidding about him," he said.

"Kidding about what?" Tommy demanded, frowning at his brother.

"About you being a no-nonsense hard-ass," Brendan supplied. "And a slight dick."

"Listen, Tommy, you're absolutely right," Wilcox said. "I didn't call you down here to eat sandwiches and bullshit. I called you down here to talk to you about Ithaca." He paused to wipe his mouth. "Your brother here started blowing up my phone immediately after the fight. I was in Las Vegas on business at the time and missed most of the calls but I did receive about twenty voicemails demanding a call back. Then I got a handful of emails and about a dozen texts. Brendan here was not playing around about the situation." He took a sip from his bottle of raspberry iced tea. "When I got back home I started getting bits and pieces of the story – of _everything _that happened involving you over the weekend. That your girlfriend was assaulted by fans and then publicly humiliated – really sorry to hear about what happened to her, by the way – that you fired your manager, and that, most interestingly, you lost the tournament when everyone else who scored it beyond the judges' booth said you won." Wilcox fixed him with a piercing stare. "All of these things were very interesting to me. So, I watched as much footage as I could get, including your bout with Clay. I scored your fight with him seven times, and each time, Tommy, you came out the winner."

"Not according to the judges," Tommy said.

"Colton Boyd has a big problem," Wilcox said bluntly. "And that is that he thinks he's smarter than he actually is. There's an old saying. When you grease the palms, it makes the fingers slippery. The judges were only too happy to rat him out and point their fingers at him. He paid them before the match to score it in Clay's favor no matter what." Wilcox shook his head. "It was a dumb fucking move. Luckily, you've got a pretty big fan base, Tommy, and a lot of people around you that support you. This shit never sat well with them from the get-go, and thus it was brought to my attention. Mostly due to your brother here." Wilcox clapped down on Brendan's shoulder. "Anyway, I scored your fight, like I said, and I had a new set of judges come in and score your fight, just to keep things honest. You won."

Tommy's head swam. "So, what does this all mean, then?" he asked. "Isn't it just water under the bridge, now?"

"This means that Colton Boyd owes me a big, fat fuckin' fine and will be forever banned from entering fighters in any MMA tournaments," Wilcox said bluntly. "He's done, he's washed up. If he can't enter fighters into the big, high-dollar purse tourneys, no one is gonna want to work with him. He doesn't manage any clients, he doesn't make any money. He's going to have to find a new line of work entirely." Wilcox took another sip of tea. "He's also gonna lose that gym of his. You were the main draw, Tommy, you were the reason why people wanted to go. I suggest you take back your investment and go elsewhere."

"I plan to," Tommy said. "We've already severed the business agreement. The bank is going to handle getting me my investment back. I'm actually thinking of opening up my own place."

Wilcox nodded vehemently. "Excellent idea. Really. Great idea." He reached into his suit coat, into an interior pocket, and drew out a large white envelope. "Maybe this will help you get started." He slid the envelope across the table toward Tommy.

Tommy glanced at it, then up at Wilcox, who looked back at him impassively. Tommy then glanced at Brendan, who grinned widely. Tommy had no trouble believing that if Wilcox wasn't sitting there, Brendan would be rubbing his hands together gleefully.

He picked up the envelope. "What is this?"

Wilcox smiled and gestured toward him. "Why don't you open it up and take a look?"

Hesitantly, Tommy tore the envelope open and pulled out a thick piece of paper. He realized he was holding a check. It was made out to him, and it was for the amount of three million dollars.

His eyes snapped back toward Wilcox, blazing.

"You won, Tommy," Wilcox said simply. "Fair and square." He took another bite of his sandwich. "Never let it be said that Bradley Wilcox is an unfair man."

"This is for three million," Tommy said. "The purse was for two."

"Consider it…reparations," Wilcox said. "For your pain and suffering." He thought for a moment. "And a bribe to come back to Ithaca Two next year."

Tommy licked his lips, hardly able to believe what he was holding in his hands. His mind whirled. His own gym had just become a reality. He could set Pilar and the kids up permanently with the trust funds and college funds he'd always wanted to set up for them.

"Tommy?" Brendan was saying, and Tommy snapped his head up, and saw Wilcox holding his hand out. Tommy shook himself and grabbed it, giving it a firm shake.

"Thank you, Mr. Wilcox," Tommy said humbly. "I really do appreciate this."

Wilcox wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin into his bag before crumpling it. "Not at all, Tommy. Like I said, you won fair and square. Thank you for being a part of the tournament, and I wasn't kidding about that being a bribe for next year." He winked, then laughed. He clapped Tommy on the shoulder. "Thank your brother, here, too," he added. "He really had your back." He shoved his paper lunch bag into the nearest trash receptacle. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I've got to get back to the office. I've got some blacklisting of one Colton Boyd to do." He nodded and waved, then exited the shop.

Tommy shook his head at Brendan. "I don't even know what to say, man."

Brendan grinned crookedly. "You're my baby brother," he said quietly. "I'm not about to allow you to get fucked in the ass over some bullshit like last weekend. You won that, fair and square like he said. That's yours."

"I owe you like, a cut or something," Tommy said lamely, gesturing with the check.

Brendan shook his head. "No. I don't want any of it. But I do want you to open up your own place. You've got too much talent, Tommy, you're too smart, to be workin' for anybody but yourself, _especially_ for someone like Colt. I bet you could take back all of Colt's clients, and even Fen and Leon. At this rate, Colt's not gonna have that place for too much longer, let alone a pot to piss in. He brought this on himself. Hell – you could _buy _his share of the property from him. He won't be able to hold onto it, and it would save you the hassle of trying to find a new location and a staff. You'd just have to change the name, and then it would belong solely to you."

Tommy's head whirled. He couldn't believe how his luck had changed in the blink of an eye. He'd never been particularly religious, let alone during the past few years, but now he felt a strong sense of humility and he sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness. And Brendan had given him a great suggestion regarding the gym. He made a note to see his attorney about it.

Brendan leaned back in his chair and grinned. "So, what's your first move, little brother?"

Suddenly, Tommy pictured a small property not far from the deli they were in. It was on a corner, across the street from the Benedum Theatre. It was a tiny, dusty little thing, but inside it held the dreams, goals and wishes of someone very close to him; someone whose happiness meant a lot to him and whom he wanted to give the world to.

Someone who, apparently, loved him.

He got to his feet. "Why don't you come with me and find out?"

:O:O:O:

"You sure about this, bro?"

Tommy folded the sheaf of papers he'd just received carefully so as not to lose anything before he turned and looked at his brother as they walked out of the bank together. In the span of one afternoon, Tommy had become a multi-millionaire, had a legal letter drafted to Colton Boyd advising him to sell his gym property to one Tommy Conlon, and made another small property purchase. He could understand the doubt, he supposed. But instead of the doubt or skepticism he automatically expected to see there, his brother's face held a look of excited anticipation and something almost like admiration.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tommy replied, glancing away. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No, you should," Brendan said, grinning. "This is huge. You just bought your girl a dance studio. You should get married now." He burst out laughing when Tommy whirled to glare at him. "Okay. Maybe not marriage yet. But you obviously love her."

_Love_. That word again. But instead of feeling squeamish, Tommy felt curiosity and uncertainty.

"Definitely an awesome move, man," Brendan was saying. "How are you gonna tell her?"

"How did you know you loved Tess?" Tommy blurted out, then instantly regretted it. He sounded like some fucking twelve-year-old boy asking about a school crush. He was thirty years old; he should know better than to ask such dumb questions.

Brendan looked surprised. "I just…I just knew," he said. "I had really, really strong feelings for her. I wanted to be around her all the time. I wanted to make sure she was okay before I made sure I was okay. I started picturing my future and I couldn't picture it without her. All those things." He looked at Tommy curiously. "Why you askin', man?"

Tommy shrugged and glanced away. "Just wondering."

"You in love with Sammi?" Brendan asked, then held up his hands in mock surrender when Tommy shot another look at him. "I am genuinely asking, bro."

"I don't know," Tommy muttered, cursing himself for ever bringing up the question. "She told me the other day – yesterday, I guess – that she loved me."

"Wow!" Brendan said, impressed. "She said it first, huh? What'd you say?"

"Nothing," Tommy replied, hating himself more and more as the conversation progressed.

Brendan blinked at him. "Hold on. Beautiful girl tells you she loves you – _you_ – and you don't say nothin' back?"

"I didn't know _what_ to say," Tommy said defensively. "I didn't want to say something I didn't mean."

"So you _don't_ love her?" Brendan asked in confusion. "If that's the case then you're giving a damn good impression of it."

"I just – I don't know what that feels like," Tommy admitted. "I don't know _what _I feel."

"I can't tell you the answer to that," Brendan said with a shrug. "Only you know that. I can just tell you what it looks like from the outside. And it looks to me like you're a drowning man." He grinned. "It's not so bad on this side, though. You'll see."

Tommy snorted, but his brother's words echoed in his mind. _Really strong feelings for her. Want to be around her all the time. Make sure she's okay. Can't picture life without her_.

All of those things were true.

Tommy wanted to laugh at himself and groan at the same time.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Sammi went back to work on Wednesday, against her parents' wishes. And she went in a foul mood.

By now, all of Pittsburgh knew about her. Everyone who read the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and the Pittsburgh Tribune, that is. Which was mostly everyone. The papers had been calling her nonstop and she was more curious about how in the hell they'd gotten a hold of her cell phone number than what it was they were calling to talk to her about. She refused the calls, ignored the voicemails, refused to give any interviews. She simply wanted to be left alone. So, without her input, they ran stories summarizing both her situation's reveal at Ithaca and also her testimony at the trial two days before. She was flabbergasted at how quickly supposedly "private" information traveled and how easily it was bought. It was beyond her scope of imagination as to how, by whom and from whom the information about her was sold, and frankly, why anyone even gave two shits about her. It exhausted her to even think about it. She accepted the sensationalism for what it was and sincerely hoped the interest in her and her unfortunate circumstances would die. Quickly.

However, that was not the only thing contributing to her foul mood.

Since Monday, she hadn't seen Tommy and she had barely spoken to him. Busy, he'd said, he'd been super busy lately. He hadn't mentioned what any of that busy-ness entailed but Sammi assumed it had to do with him needing to pick up the pieces from the fallout at Ithaca. She also assumed that it had to do, at least a little bit, with her little confession in the courthouse a couple days ago.

Where she had initially felt brave and happy at her admission, she now felt down and a little foolish. She might have been out of the dating game for some time now but she at least recalled hearing her girlfriends and sisters tell her that the girl was never supposed to say "I love you" first, even if she really meant it, because guys tended to scare easily, and everyone knew that girls got way too emotionally overwrought too soon.

Sammi had meant what she'd said to Tommy. In the days following her confession and Tommy's subsequent silence, she had forced herself to examine the truth of her statement. Had she just been caught up in the stress of the day? The emotion of the weekend? Did she really know what she was saying?

After a couple of sleepless nights and thinking of little else, Sammi realized that yes, what she'd said to him, she'd meant. And she was still proud of herself for putting all of her emotions out on the table, the same as she'd felt when she'd first uttered the words. And at the time, she hadn't necessarily even been looking for or expecting a return statement from him immediately. It would have been nice, but that hadn't been the point of her opening her mouth in the first place. It was something that she'd needed him to know, to understand how she felt. And she regretted nothing.

However, as the hours stretched into a day and a day became _days_, and days began to stretch into the week, she realized that it would have been nice to hear _something_ back from him. Telling her he loved her, too, would have been the first choice. Since he hadn't said it back, she could only assume he didn't feel that way about her. But even if he hadn't said it back to her, at least it would have been nice to feel like things hadn't changed between them, and they now obviously had. With his sudden "busy-ness" and his unavailability for her, physically and conversationally, she began to believe that she had, in fact, scared him off.

She had to laugh ruefully at herself a little bit. No, it wasn't her traumatic experience or subsequent mental fallout and issues with self-mutilation and anxiety that had scared him off. Nor her squeamishness at close physical contact or the length of time it had taken for her to become comfortable, let alone enjoy, being touched. No, it had been her honest confession that she loved him, that she was in love with him, that had sent him screaming for the hills.

_Instant man-repellant_, she thought wryly. She was extremely disappointed, though; Tommy had stayed by her side throughout everything but this, _this_, had been the thing to push him away? He had helped to bring her so far, and once she'd decided to go all the way – literally and figuratively – he was just done?

She was hurt, and lonely, and utterly miserable.

To make things worse, the showcase was in just one day. She was ready, her costume was ready, she felt confident about her physical ability to pull off the performance. However, now that her head and her heart were hurting, she knew it now had the ability to become a complete clusterfuck. She had to find a way to channel her negative emotions into the passion of her dance, or else she would simply be distracted and fail despite her hard work and dedication to being successful. She hadn't even bothered rehearsing at all this week yet, so heartsick she was that she couldn't even really bring herself to care much about the performance. The rational part of her brain recognized that she was in a danger-zone that could set her up for failure.

Her first day back at work was awkward at best. She felt like everyone who came into the café was looking at her strangely now that she was, apparently, all over the news. She was no longer Joe Carnevale's youngest kid, workin' the counter at the café. She was a rape victim who had just testified at the trial of her attacker to put him away for life. She hated it, the looks, the whispers. She wanted to throw things and yell and scream at them, tell them to mind their own fucking business. But she couldn't, so she endured it all silently, steam coming out of her ears.

Her mood certainly didn't help the customer interactions. Normally, she was able to keep her feelings and emotions in check when dealing with customers, wanting to present the best front for her parents' business as possible and be friendly and inviting and warm. Today, she was cool, disinterested and at times, almost actually growly. Bunz, normally fearless when it came to demanding that her friend "miss her" with her attitude or instructing her to spill the beans, quietly kept to herself in the back. When she did speak to Sammi, she was soft-spoken and kept things short, almost as though she knew the real reason for Sammi's moodiness. Sammi knew she was going to need to go back and apologize to Bunz later on. But she couldn't find it in herself to talk about what was happening and why she was in such a bad mood. She silently thanked God for a friend like Bunz who seemed to know instinctively not to push her, nor did she seem to take offense to Sammi's shortness, as though she understood that it had nothing to do with her.

To her annoyance, the café phone had been ringing off the hook for most of the day. Every time Sammi would answer, she'd hear a pause, a breath, a click, and then a dial tone. It was getting to be incredibly irritating, and each time the phone rang, her nerves coiled just a little tighter.

"Do you know who keeps calling?" Bunz asked after the lunch rush had departed. The phone had just gone off for at least the tenth time that day. Being that it was attached to the wall directly behind the counter, Sammi had been the one to answer it every time.

Sammi slammed the receiver back into the cradle with more force than necessary. "Who knows. Probably another fucking reporter. It's bad enough they have my cell phone; now they're harassing me at work?"

"But they're not saying anything?" Bunz asked curiously.

"No. Just breathin' and then hangin' up."

"Probably not reporters, then," Bunz said. "Probably just some jerks pranking you."

"Either way," Sammi said grumpily, "they need to knock the shit off."

The phone rang again, and Bunz made to answer it this time, but Sammi lunged for it and yanked it to her ear.

"Hello!" she growled, completely ignoring the standard business greeting her parents had always asked her to use.

"Hi," a hesitant male voice said. "Is – is Bunz around?"

"Who's calling?" Sammi demanded.

"I'm, uh – a friend," the man replied.

Sammi's eyes narrowed in suspicion. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice, but she knew it wasn't Anthony. Not to mention, it sounded like every other guy in Pittsburgh. There was nothing special or distinctive about it. Moreover, Bunz didn't really socialize with other guys outside of Anthony, and she certainly didn't have any brothers. One of the few personal details Bunz had divulged about herself was that she was an only child.

"You think I'm stupid?" Sammi asked the caller evenly.

"Uh, n-no," the voice said nervously.

"Then why the hell are you callin' up here asking to speak to _my _friend when I know _you're_ not friends with her?" Sammi demanded.

Bunz quickly plucked the receiver from her hand and gave Sammi a dark look before taking the call. "Hello?" she asked. Her face lit up with the caller apparently identified himself. "Hey – you. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Oh, yeah? Okay. Well, I'll meet up with you when I get off work. At the – okay. Yes. Perfect. All right. I won't. Okay. Okay. Bye."

Bunz calmly hung up the phone and turned when she felt the heat of Sammi's stare. "Yes?"

"Well?" Sammi said expectantly. "What the hell was that about?"

Bunz made a face and then laughed. "You're nosy as hell. Why don't you mind your own business?" She caught sight of Sammi's annoyed expression and sighed, patting the air. "Fine. Calm yourself. I was looking into surprising Anthony with a personal trainer for his birthday. He's been really wanting to get back into shape. I gave the guy my cell and work numbers and I didn't hear my cell go off. Anyway, I'm meeting with him after work to talk about it."

Sammi's eyes narrowed again. It sounded perfectly reasonable but for some reason she felt like that wasn't the whole truth. "Why did he say he was your friend?" she asked suspiciously. "Why not just say, he's with such-and-such gym?"

Bunz laughed. "I don't know, yo," she said calmly. "I couldn't tell you. Why don't you just calm down, okay?" She squeezed Sammi's shoulder. "Honestly. You've got a big night in a couple days. You need to be focusing on that. Right?"

Sammi thought of the showcase again and sighed. Bunz was right. "Yeah, I guess," she mumbled.

"Listen. Why don't you clear outta here an hour early, go to the Y, lock yourself in your newly refurbished, fabulous little studio and dance your ass off? Then get yourself some froyo and go home to bed."

Sammi noticed that Bunz didn't say anything about seeing or calling Tommy, which she usually did in moments like these. Bunz knew that Sammi always either saw or spoke to Tommy every day. Her heart drooped a little.

"Yeah," Sammi mumbled. "I'll do that, I guess."

Several hours later, Sammi stood in the tiny corner studio of the Y, stretching her legs at the _barre_ and looking out the window dejectedly. Her mood had not improved in the slightest, not that she'd expected it to, and she had no energy at all for her rehearsal. However, Bunz's suggestion of frozen yogurt _had_ piqued her interest, and in order to feel okay about enjoying such a treat, especially in the way she preferred to make it, she felt she'd better do _some_ kind of physical activity.

She ran through the dance three times, and while she noted that she hit all of the correct moves on all of the correct beats, her performance was lackluster at best. She no longer felt the spark of emotion connected to the song, no longer allowed the music to take control of her body and mind. Her thoughts were not on her dance at all.

As she stood, glaring at her reflection in the mirror, panting and sweating, she made a decision. She'd allow herself one more night to mope. In the morning, she would get over the situation.

As she packed up her all of her things into her dance duffel bag, she felt a bit lighter in her decision. She'd get over it, and she'd move on, with or without Tommy.

:O:O:O:

Even with a giant bowl of creamy, frozen yogurt, and a night spent in bed cuddling up with Rocky, her plan from the night before was a little easier said than done in the morning.

She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She knew she should take advantage of the fact that she had a day off from the café, a day to sleep in a little bit before she headed down to the Benedum for dress rehearsals that day prior to the performance in the evening. She'd slept fitfully through the night, like she had the past several nights. She had decided not to reach out to Tommy, as had been her habit these days, and had gone to bed without speaking to him or texting with him all day long. She wanted to see if he would notice and reach out to her first. As she looked at her phone this morning, she saw that he hadn't.

Rocky stretched luxuriously from where he was curled up against her side, purring at the same time, before digging his paws delicately into her throat as he leaned into her face. She stared him down, her eyes narrowing, as he began his morning ritual of waking her up and enticing her to feed him by purring loudly in her ear, stepping on her hair, pressing his cold and wet nose into her face, and licking the sensitive skin of her cheeks hard, his rough tongue feeling like sandpaper against her flesh.

"You win, Rock," she mumbled, gently pushing him away as she struggled to sit up. "You win."

The cat leapt off the bed and raced out of the room down the hallway, Sammi trudging behind him into the kitchen. He squeaked with excitement as she scooped up a serving of his dry food and poured it into his bowl. When he was happily immersed in his food, Sammi headed back to her room and flopped face-down back into her bed. She eventually dozed off, finding herself snorting awake in a rush seemingly only a few moments later when her alarm clock went off. In actuality, she'd slept for an additional forty-five minutes. It was now nine-thirty, and she had a strict rehearsal time of eleven.

She hopped up and gathered up her costume, footwear and registration form for the showcase, feeling deeply thankful she'd showered before going to bed last night. She dressed quickly jeans, bright red leather Converse sneakers, and a black Sex Pistols T-shirt. She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then yanked her long hair into a bun on top of her head before grabbing her bag and keys and flying out the door.

She rode the bus downtown after she stopped and grabbed a latte with a double shot of espresso to help her fully wake up. The bus dropped her off a couple blocks from the Benedum and she hoped the walk in the brisk air would help make her feel a little more alert. As she strode down the street, she recalled the last time she'd been here, she had been on her date with Tommy, the night he'd taken her to go see Giselle. An even heavier sadness hung over her. He knew that tonight was her showcase; since she hadn't heard from him since the day before yesterday, she wondered if he'd forgotten. Or if he even still planned to show up. If he cared.

As she neared the corner, her body automatically turned her to the right around the corner, instead of heading straight across the street and down the block until she could cross to go to the Benedum. She always liked to walk past her dream studio space to remind herself to keep her goals in mind, to constantly work hard, and never forget what she wanted. She never walked through this area without stopping by the studio to just look at it and think for a while. In fact, sometimes she rode the bus to this area for that sole purpose.

She rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of the studio space on the corner. There was a sign in the window, like there always was, and at first her eyes skimmed over it, taking its presence for granted like they normally did. Then she froze.

It took her several long moments to register the fact that the sign said something different than it normally did.

Sold.

She continued to stare at it, confusion creeping over her, followed by anger, and then disbelief. She stood rooted in place on the sidewalk and barely noticed when her duffel bag slid off her shoulder and thudded to the dirty pavement.

_Sold._

In the instant the word clicked in her brain, and she understood that the studio was no longer hers, her heart broke.

All of her dreams, all of her goals, all of her wishes had been wrapped up in this dirty little space. All of the long years ahead she saw in her mind, walking through a roomful of blossoming ballerinas, guiding them on their form, technique, and grace, watching them grow from shy, clumsy little girls into beautiful, graceful dancers, shattered.

All of that was gone now, swept out of the little studio space before her like the dust on the floor.

The rational part of her mind told her that this wasn't the only studio space in Pittsburgh. It was one of dozens. She could easily find another location; there was no need to give up on anything at the moment. But the emotional part of her brain refused to hear the logic; this space was the first space she'd looked at that had struck her with inspiration for dance again. After her attack, she'd stopped caring about almost everything in her life, dance included. When she and her family had first come to Pittsburgh, and she'd come to the downtown area, her old love of dance had stirred immediately when she'd passed this place. She had halted in her tracks – she remembered it so clearly – and she'd gaped through the window, instantly seeing in her mind polished wooden spring floors, rounded _barres_ spanning the length of the room, floor to ceiling mirrors. And just like that, her passion had sprung back to life and the very next day, she began her search for a job teaching dance. Then she'd started work at her parents' brand new café, and then shortly after added the bartending job to increase her money-making plan to get the studio. That studio, responsible at least in a small way for bringing her back to life, would be hers. She'd been so determined, and she'd worked so hard. She'd been so diligent about saving her money, rarely spending any money outside of what she needed for basic necessities. Every cent she saved brought her that much closer to the required down payment for the studio mortgage.

And now…it was gone.

She remained a moment longer, staring at it blankly, and then silently hefted her bag and turned on her heel, heading on to the Benedum.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: Hi lovelies. Here's another chapter for you. Please excuse any typos and be sure to leave me sweet, gushy messages of undying love and affection (just kidding. Unless you were actually planning to do that. In that case I am dead serious). Besos and I hope you all have a fantastic weekend. Mwah!**

**Chapter 34**

Tommy was drained. He felt like he'd been up for two days straight. But underneath his exhaustion, he felt like a brand new person.

He felt like someone who finally had his shit together.

As he walked down the street in downtown Pittsburgh that afternoon, his mind spun as he thought of the major way his life had picked up and changed right after his meeting with Bradley Wilcox a couple days ago. He'd gone straight to the bank to sit down with a financial advisor. He'd visited his attorney and had a notarized letter drafted to Colton Boyd and his attorney regarding selling Tommy his business. He'd purchased the studio for Sammi, paying for it outright. He'd been feeling great about that, when the news broke that Colton Boyd had officially been banned for life from MMA tournaments. The story had been featured prominently on ESPN and other sports networks, and was even featured in the sports sections of major news networks, both broadcast and print. Wilcox had meant what he'd said about blacklisting Boyd, truthful though it all was. Unfortunately Sammi's name had been mentioned in those stories as well; the stories shared that Colt had had a major role in leaking the details regarding the attack, including the "very small" detail of her identity, shortly before her trial. It was revealed that he had participated in bribery and match-fixing, causing the judges to throw the fight in Clay Cavasso's favor, but shared that Tommy was the true winner after a new set of judges had reviewed the footage.

Subsequently, Tommy's phone had started ringing off the hook with reporters trying to get his side of the story. He had been mildly amused; they did this shit all the time, and he never gave in. When would they take the hint? Brendan and Paddy both encouraged him to speak to them, but Tommy didn't feel a need to say anything. Wilcox had done an admirable job and Tommy felt there wasn't much left that needed to be said.

Tommy's attorney and Colt's attorney had been locked in a room at Tommy's attorney's firm beginning Tuesday afternoon and extending into Wednesday evening. They had a mediator brought in. As Tommy had expected, receiving occasional updates via text from his attorney, Colt and his attorney staunchly refused to sell the business. It was Colt's, his attorney argued, created from his dream and blood, sweat and tears. Tommy had to roll his eyes at that. Colt was so full of shit. Tommy hopped on the phone, called his lawyer, and sternly instructed him to _lower _his proffered selling price to a price point that was just a hair above "insulting".

"He's done in this business," Tommy had said coldly. "No more MMA, no more managing fighters. Now that he's fired me and I took my initial investment back, he won't be able to make the bills or fix things around the place. He's done." Tommy's attorney made a note of his new offer, and Tommy's phone had remained silent after that.

Meanwhile, he had plenty of things to do while he waited for his attorney to sort things out. Tuesday evening, he had spent hours going through all of his documents he had from the gym as he prepared to take over sole ownership. He was confident that it was going to happen. He pored over his documents late into the night. Wednesday morning, his first order of business after checking in with his lawyer to find that things were still at a stalemate was to contact a contracting business to begin transforming the dance studio downtown. He agreed to meet up with the contractor to begin work on a blueprint and describe what he wanted, per Sammi's vision that she had shared with him a few different times. They went to the space, where the realtor also met them, pulling down the "For Sale" sign and replacing it with a "Sold" sign. They walked through the tiny space as Tommy described what he wanted, and the contractor noted everything. He felt that the space could be transformed in a reasonable amount of time with few problems. Tommy asked if they could do it within a month; he didn't know how long he could trust himself to sit on such a huge surprise and moreover, he wanted Sammi to be able to start living her dream as soon as possible. The contractor saw no reason why they couldn't have the space transformed in that time, but it would require a couple of shifts and additional manpower. Tommy told him to do whatever it took but he wanted the space ready in a month's time or less. As this conversation was taking place, Brendan and Bunz had joined him at the studio. Bunz was smiling in amazement as she looked around. She glanced at Tommy and shook her head slightly, grinning.

"I can't believe you did this," she'd said softly. "This is – this is – just wow."

"You can't tell her," Tommy warned. "I know how you two are, and you cannot tell her."

"I won't, I won't," Bunz said with a sigh. "Just know this is, like, the hardest thing ever. We don't keep secrets."

"She's already suspicious about something," Brendan chimed in. "When I kept calling the café today she kept answering. Do you guys only have one phone or something?"

"Correct," Bunz said cheerfully. "It was actually pretty funny to watch her get so worked up over all these 'prank calls' she thought she was getting."

"Man, I thought she was going to recognize my voice," Brendan said. "Glad you took the phone when you did."

"Me too," Bunz said. She twirled in a circle, her arms out. "I just can't believe you did this!"

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, feeling embarrassed. He wanted Bunz to be in on the surprise since she was Sammi's best friend and confidante, and knew just how much this would mean to her. He wasn't sure how he'd reveal it all to Sammi but he knew he wanted her family to be involved. He also wanted Bunz's input on the studio – what color the walls should be painted, if she knew what Sammi had planned to call her business, what the sign should look like. Bunz didn't have all the information he wanted to know but she promised she'd be able to get it in a casual way that wouldn't arouse Sammi's suspicions. Brendan had snorted at that.

"Good luck," he'd said wryly.

Late Wednesday night, when he'd finally gotten back to his apartment, he'd gotten a call from his lawyer. He'd been slightly tempted to not answer it, as all he wanted to do was crawl into bed, but he knew realistically he couldn't afford to do that.

"Well," his lawyer had said, and Tommy realized the man was simply exhausted by the way he said that one word. "Let's see. It's eleven o'clock-and-change at night. We started at five o'clock on Tuesday. So it only took…..fifty-four hours of negotiation, minus breaks for meals, of course. The few we had."

Tommy had waited patiently, drumming his fingers on his hip. He wasn't going to be moved by his lawyer's pitiful attempt at martyrdom; he was getting paid, and handsomely, after all.

The man had sighed in annoyance when Tommy didn't take the bait. "Calm yourself, Mr. Conlon. Please stop interrupting me. I'm getting to the point, I promise. Congratulations. You are now officially the proud owner of the property formerly known as Colt's Gym."

Tommy had allowed one very rare, full-mouthed, genuinely happy grin to spread across his face, before biting it away and clearing his throat.

"Great news, man. Thank you for your hard work. I'll be down to sign the paperwork first thing in the morning."

"And then I'm going on an extended weekend vacation to Atlantic City," his lawyer had replied grumpily. "On your dime, of course."

"If by 'my dime' you mean the check I'll be bringing you for payment of services rendered, then yes," Tommy had said calmly. "Otherwise, you can shove it up your ass."

"Pleasure doing business, sir," his attorney said. "See you in the morning."

Tommy had hung up the phone and grinned again, shaking his head. He yawned deeply and fell into bed, groaning as the tension of the past couple days seemed to settle itself in his back. As sleep had flowed thickly up his body, clouding his brain, he realized he hadn't spoken to Sammi at all that day. It hadn't been intentional at all – he'd just been so wrapped up in everything he'd had going on that he hadn't realized he hadn't heard from her like he normally did at some point throughout the day. He had barely had time to stop for the only meal he'd halfway eaten that day. He had groaned inwardly, too tired to move, and hoped she would understand and that she wasn't _too_ upset with him. Her angry face was the last thing he pictured before sleep had finally claimed him.

Now, as he strode down the sidewalk leading to the studio space that day, after spending the morning at his lawyer's office to sign all of the paperwork, he still felt exhausted, but he felt really pleased with how things were coming together. After visiting his lawyer, he'd drafted an email to all of the clients at the gym to let them know there was going to be a change in ownership. The gym would be closed for the rest of the week and over the weekend, and would reopen that following Monday. Anyone wishing to cancel their membership had only to contact him, and the contract would be terminated. Otherwise, clients were welcome to resume their normal routines beginning Monday as there would be no changes to the facility other than the name outside the building.

Next, he'd called Fen and Leon, explaining the change in circumstances, which they were already aware of. He asked if they were interested in working solely for him now that Colt was out of the picture, and they both agreed.

"We get a raise, man?" Fen had asked. "I'm tired of working for minimum wage."

"Yes," Tommy had sighed. "I'll give you a raise. But no more ESPN at the front desk, dig? I'm giving you real work to do."

Then, he had contracted a company to redo the sign outside the gym. He decided to keep the new name of the gym very simple – The 17th Street Boxing Gym. He didn't want his name associated with it, although he wasn't so naïve to overlook the fact that it would be news soon, if it wasn't already, that he had acquired the gym from Colt. Surprisingly, he had yet to hear from Colt himself. Tommy wasn't personally afraid of the man – that was laughable. However, Colt had surprised him with a few well-placed jabs over the past weekend, and he wanted to make sure he was ready and on his toes if he decided to throw a few more.

Tommy knocked on the door of the studio. He heard noises from inside and knew that the contractors were there. Someone had placed a large, window-sized piece of plywood in the window behind the "SOLD" sign, blocking the interior from the street. His main contact at the contracting group unlocked the door to let him in, smiling.

"Hey there," he greeted. "You're just in time. We just got here a few moments ago."

Tommy nodded as he shook the contractor's proffered hand. "You've got the blueprint ready?"

The man nodded. "I do. It didn't take too long since this isn't a huge space. But what I was thinking was that we could divide this space up and create _two_ studios in here, for two sets of classes. If she decided to hire another teacher or something once she gets going." He tapped the blueprint page he held out to Tommy for inspection.

Tommy took it and looked over the blueprints carefully. Sammi had never mentioned anything about dual studios, but, if she were as successful as Tommy knew she would be, it wouldn't hurt to plan for the future. It would be much simpler to create them now as opposed to having to halt classes to refurbish the studio in the future.

He spent the next several hours walking around the space with the man, discussing everything that would go into transforming the space into a proper dance studio. Tommy's main concern was flooring; Sammi had always been very specific on the type of floors that would be needed in a studio. The contractor assured him he'd worked on dance studios before and knew just what kind of wood was required and the special springs that would be placed underneath.

Finally, Tommy felt confident enough that the men had all the information they needed according to his interpretation of Sammi's vision and he shook hands all around before he left. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket as soon as he was outside. It was Bunz.

"Hey," he said when he picked up. "What's up?"

"Well, she's really pissed and upset," Bunz said bluntly. "She hasn't heard from you for like, a million days and she said she thinks you're not coming to the showcase performance."

"Of course I am," Tommy replied automatically. Then, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. "Wait. Is today Thursday?"

"It is, friend," Bunz replied. "They say it happens every week around this time."

"_Fuck_," Tommy hissed, swiping a hand over his face. He already felt like a huge piece of shit for being so unavailable for Sammi during the week, but now he'd completely lost track of time. He looked at his watch, and saw that it was five-thirty. "What time does it start?"

"Six," Bunz replied.

"Shit!" he exclaimed. He was filthy from the dust and dirt in the studio, and he needed to get home to change and find a place to buy some flowers. "Damn, I'm like, up the street from the Benedum but I have to shower…"

"Well, she doesn't go on right at six," Bunz said. "She said she goes on around seven."

"All right. Fuckin' hell. I gotta move," Tommy said as he started jogging down the street. "My family wants to come too, so I gotta let them know."

"I already told Brendan," Bunz said. "We're BFFs now."

"Great," Tommy said, not even breaking a smile. "Can you look out for them? I gotta hustle. Can you tell Sammi – "

"I can't tell Sammi anything. Her phone is off," Bunz sighed. "She told me she was turning it off so that she could get into 'performance mode'. She is scared absolutely shitless. She hasn't done this in a few years."

"Dammit," he cursed mournfully. He wouldn't even get to talk to her before the performance. Maybe that wasn't a bad thing – he was fairly sure that if she were as pissed off at him as Bunz said she was, she probably wouldn't even try to hear him out and just hang up on him. And he refused to spoil the surprise he had planned for her. He only hoped that he could coax her into forgiveness.

"You better get your ass in gear, Marine," Bunz said. "Or else she'll never forgive you."

"Roger that," he sighed. "Gotta go. See you later." He ended the call and jumped into his car, cranking the engine and speeding off. He truly felt awful for neglecting her this week and forgetting about her performance; he knew he had quite a bit of making up to do.

:O:O:O:

Sammi paced around her tiny dressing room. It was fifteen minutes until showtime, and she was fairly certain she was going to throw up.

She peered at herself in the mirror of her small lighted vanity. Her makeup was simple; after covering her face and lips in a heavy, shine-free foundation, she had enhanced her eyes with dark eyeshadow and liner and her cheekbones with bronzer, but otherwise nothing else. Her mouth was going to be covered in layers of duct tape that she would gradually peel away as she illustrated her character gaining a voice as the song progressed, until finally only two pieces of black electrical tape, forming an X over her lips, remained.

Her costume itself was simple; tight black dance shorts and a ripped black top, done strategically to highlight the areas on her own body that she had self-harmed. She had painted over her scars with a special, pale red body paint that would show up under normal lights but glow in the darkness. At the climax of the song, she'd requested the houselights be killed and would be dancing completely in the darkness, with only the glowing red streaks and her silhouette visible. She had painted the scars on the tops of her breasts, on her rib cage, on her lower stomach, on her thighs, and the inner portion of her ankle. She prepared herself for the questions she was sure to receive from her family regarding the placement of and reason for her paint, but she wasn't entirely sure how she wanted to answer them.

Her body shook from the coldness of the theater and from nerves as she continued her pacing. She glanced at her cellphone sticking out of a pocket in her bag. She was tempted to turn it on and see if "anyone" had attempted to contact her, but decided that given that the chances of that happening were slim, based on the last several days, she didn't want to put herself through any more disappointment prior to this performance; taking the stage after so many years of _not _being on a stage was extremely stressful.

Aside from feeling let-down and sad from Tommy's sudden disappearance in her life, she was also genuinely disappointed he wouldn't see the final result of all her hard work. She had put her heart and soul into this dance, and the gradual evolvement of her character being a mute victim with no voice to a strong survivor finding a voice by the end was a subtle dedication to him. Even if they had gone as far as they were going to go, she would forever be indebted to him for helping her heal past her pain. Sometimes, she reasoned, remembering an old adage she'd heard somewhere, people came into one's life for a short season to fulfill some sort of purpose or teach a lesson. Then, the season passed.

She just never expected that she and Tommy were just a season.

The opening of her dressing room door was preceded by a short knock, and then a young woman stuck her head in. She wore a pair of headphones with a microphone attached to one side, hanging in front of her mouth. A battery pack was clipped to her belt and she held a clipboard.

"Hi, Sammi," she said. "I'm Jen, the stage manager. I just wanted to let you know you're on deck."

"Okay," Sammi said, reaching for her footies and sliding them on quickly. "I'm just about ready." She quickly slapped on the layers of tape, starting with the black X and adding three layers of duct tape, positioned around her mouth in an approximation of a starburst shape. When they were in place, she turned and gave Jen a thumbs-up, and the stage manager began to lead her toward the backstage area.

"Hey," Jen said shyly. She put her hand on Sammi's arm. "I apologize if this is too forward, or if it's a painful subject for you still. But I just wanted to say that I read your story in the paper. And I think that you're really brave for testifying."

Sammi blinked at her, unsure what to say. She didn't want to be rude, so she gave Jen another thumbs-up, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

Jen nodded and patted her arm, then pointed toward the wings of the stage. "When this dancer goes off, you're up," she whispered.

Sammi's stomach erupted in nerves as she moved toward the wings of the stage, in between the curtains. Her heart pounded and her breathing increased through her nose. Her hands and feet went freezing cold and she tightened all of her muscles to keep the shakes at bay. She already knew where her family was seated – they were in the second row near the center aisle. She thought she had seen a blonde who looked like Tess earlier, but she couldn't be sure and didn't have the time to take a good look. She reasoned it probably wasn't; if she hadn't heard from Tommy all week, she certainly couldn't expect his family to show up to something he wasn't going to even be present for.

As the music faded away for the dancer currently performing, Sammi gulped noisily. She squeezed her eyes shut and crossed herself. With the houselights still low, she hurried noiselessly onto the stage, the wood cold below her mostly bare feet. She got into her starting position, kneeling on the floor, and took another deep breath. Her song started and the lights came back up gradually, in synch with the music. Sammi preferred that to the lights coming up blaringly bright before her song started; it allowed her to relax into her movements without the pressure of being beheld by every audience member for a few long seconds before her music began to play.

Sammi pushed everything out of her mind – her stage-fright; what her life had been like a year ago; what it had turned into; her stresses with her family; the stress of the weekend; losing the studio; her issues with Tommy. She gathered all of those things up, and dumped them into a dirty laundry hamper in the closet of her mind and shut the door. Her mind transformed into blank space with room only for the music, the emotion, and the movement.

And she began.

:O:O:O:

Tommy elbowed his way into the theater one minute past seven; he was shamefully out of breath, but he was showered, changed, and clutching a huge bouquet of flowers – a mixture of stargazer lilies, tulips, hydrangeas, and baby pink roses.

The theater was dark and silent, save for soft noises of a throat clearing here and there, someone shifting in their seat, a cough, a sniffle, a whisper. Suddenly the strains of a vaguely familiar song floated through the air and the houselights gradually began to brighten. He saw Sammi kneeling in the center of the stage, dressed in black with what looked like duct tape over her mouth and red paint in places on her body. She slowly rose to her feet, extending each leg high into the air gracefully in time with the music, before suddenly, the beat burst to life and she danced with strength and energy.

Tommy had watched her dance before, once, when he'd first come to see her at the Y. As a complete ignoramus of the art of dance, he had been impressed. Since then, he'd seen a professional performance and been forced to watch the performing arts channel on cable that Sammi insisted on watching regularly. She had explained things to him, and he'd come to develop a tiny, secret appreciation for it. Now that he was just slightly more educated about it, he was floored as he watched her movements.

The height of her leaps, the straightness of her legs, the strength and control she had over her muscles, the fluidity of movement and absolute grace she embodied, the ease with which she executed her complex and expert choreography blew him away. Moreover, he knew there was a difference between going through the movements of choreography and dancing with real emotion. Her eyes would dully move across the audience from time to time, but Tommy knew she wasn't really seeing anything or anyone. She was "seeing" with her emotions; he knew she might be in the same room with them all, but she was a million miles away.

Every so often, at a verse change or a music change, she reached up and ripped off a layer of tape. He took it to mean that she was shedding some sort of silence, some sort of fear. At the climax of the song, the houselights dimmed completely, but there was very faint backlighting from the backstage area. He could see her silhouette as she moved, but what caught his attention were the glowing red streaks of paint suddenly illuminated in the darkness. He studied them curiously for a moment, not sure what they meant, until a set of streaks on the inside of her ankle caught his attention and pulled his memory back to that awful night when he'd first learned of her secret.

He abruptly realized he was staring at the brutality she had inflicted upon herself, at one time the only way she knew how to deal with the emotional pain that was tearing her apart.

He watched as she spun on the ball of one foot, her head back, her long hair streaming out behind her, her arms down at her sides and her hands gracefully poised. He studied the straightness of her supporting leg, the point of the other foot lifted to the knee, the arch of her back. The paint flashed around as she spun, and he could only watch in silent amazement. She bore her scars boldly, shamelessly, defiantly. _This is who I was,_ she seemed to be saying. _This is what I did. _

As the lights crashed back on she stared at the audience fiercely as she came out of her turn, extending a leg at hip-height straight out to the side. Her brown eyes were flashing with something like anger and she yanked the last scrap of tape off her mouth, revealing a thin black X over her lips. She executed a leap/turn combination and as the music wound down, the passion and anger seemed to leave her movements, grace taking their place. Her movements gentled and gradually, as the music faded out, she resumed her original position, kneeling on the floor, in the middle of the stages. The lights dimmed.

Tommy heard a wild, ear-piercing whoop from somewhere near the front of the stage and he let out a long, heavy breath, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. He was surprised to discover he'd been actually holding his breath, and had no idea for how long. It seemed that it had been for a long while; he was out of breath again.

He had no interest in watching any of the other performances; he only wanted to find his dancer, congratulate her on her extremely moving performance, give her the flowers he was tired of clutching like a chump, and apologize profusely for neglecting her the way he had. He slipped out of the door to the theater and walked into the lobby, trying to find a way backstage.

"Tommy!"

Tommy turned at the sound of his name being called and spotted Sammi's sisters waving at him. He looked a little harder and behind them, he saw the rest of her family, plus Bunz. And behind them, to his surprise, he saw his own. He walked over to them quickly, offering a half-smile. Mr. Carnevale reached for his hand, his standard greeting, and Sammi's mother reached up to brush both of his cheeks with her own.

"We were wondering what happened to you," Nik said, her tone vaguely threatening. "Seemed like you went all MIA for a little while."

"I did, kind of," Tommy said. "I had a good reason, though, I assure you." He proceeded to give them a brief summary of the reconciliation from the Ithaca fallout, and what he'd done with some of that money. By the time he was through, Nik, Toni and Mrs. Carnevale were all teary eyed, and Mr. Carnevale looked quietly impressed.

"You can't tell her, though," Tommy said. "This has to be kept strictly confidential. When the place is ready, I want you guys to all be there and help me surprise her."

"We'd love to!" Mrs. Carnevale exclaimed. Her eyes glistened. "Oh, Tommy. That is just the sweetest thing."

Tommy got that uncomfortable feeling he got when he was praised and cleared his throat. "Just wanted to do something nice for her. Hopefully she doesn't hate me."

"She'll be fine," Nik said with a watery smile.

"She'll be pissed that you snatched that place right out from under her," Mr. Carnevale said with a chuckle. "She was sort of looking forward to handling all of that on her own."

Tommy tilted his head, considering his point. "I never thought of that," he admitted.

Toni laughed outright. "No good deed goes unpunished. You'll see."

"Well, I'm sure I've already got quite the punishment coming my way," he said. He gestured to the bouquet in his hands. "I better go find her."

"The dressing rooms are down that hallway," Nik said, pointing. "Hers is the seventh door down on the left. Her name is on it."

"Thanks," Tommy said, turning to head off in that direction.

"So what was up with that paint on her body?" he heard Nik asking as he walked away. He wondered how Sammi was going to handle those questions; as far as he knew, her family had never been aware that she'd ever self-harmed.

He turned down the hallway of dressing rooms, almost getting knocked over by a flurry of activity as dancers in varying levels of dress went rushing back and forth, in and out of rooms. He located the seventh door down on the left, seeing Sammi's name printed out on a simple sheet of paper, and knocked on the closed door.

After a moment, he heard the sound of shuffling feet and the door opened a little. Her face peeked out, her eyes watery and her face slightly splotchy red. The look on her face went from cautiously curious to amazed to furious to hurt, in a matter of seconds. Her mouth opened to speak, and then snapped shut as she looked up at him.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes narrowed as fresh tears filled them, but she stepped back silently and opened the door wider to let him through. He slipped into the tiny room, feeling real nervousness as she shut the door behind him and turned toward him, folding her arms across her chest. She wouldn't look at him.

She was still wearing her costume, but she had started the process of taking off her stage makeup. He must have interrupted her, or something had, because old tears had left clean rivulets down her heavily foundationed cheeks. There was a box of makeup removing wipes on the tiny lit vanity in the corner and he saw smudges of makeup on them.

"Sammi," he said gently. "I – I am really sorry I've been out of the loop for the past couple days. But I came tonight, I saw you perform. You were incredible. Really."

She glanced up at him. "You saw it?"

He nodded solemnly. "I did."

"Where have you been all week?" she demanded angrily. "This has been a really tough week for me. I – " She broke off, almost as though she caught herself. Then she shook her head and barreled on anyway. "I needed you! You just left me high and dry! Was it because of what I said to you at the courthouse?"

"What?" Tommy was genuinely surprised at the vehemence of her feelings. He had truly been busy this week, much of that time spent doing things for her, and he knew he'd been wrong to let so many days go by without saying anything. But for her to think that it was because of her telling him she loved him hurt his heart. "No, Sam – hell no!"

The anger drained out of her face, leaving only melancholy sadness. "Then what?" she asked mournfully. "What else could it be? I didn't mean to scare you off, or imply that you should feel the same way about me, Tommy. I just – I just wanted to let you know how I feel. How I really feel." She shook her head, the terrible sadness in her eyes making Tommy feel like history's biggest asshole. "I guess maybe I shouldn't have said any–"

Tommy tossed the enormous bouquet of flowers he'd been holding for the past hour onto her vanity and took one giant step toward her, crossing the room and closing the distance between them. He grabbed her around the waist, ignoring the startled look she gave him and practically scooped her up into the air, pressing her body into the wall as he lowered his face to hers. She squealed in surprise just a little when he voraciously took her mouth with his own, one hand gripping her waist tightly while the other firmly cupped her jaw, forcing her to stay in place lest she try to wriggle away from him. Her bare feet stood on top of his shoes and her hands clutched at him frantically as he moved his lips insistently over hers, desperate to remove any insecurity or doubt in her mind.

He glared down into her face as he continued to kiss her hard and deep, searching for any remnants of sadness that would indicate he wasn't kissing her convincingly enough, and was pleased when he saw her brow had smoothed out, that her eyelids were gently shut and she was beginning to return his kisses. He eased up his pressure loosened his hold on her ever so slightly and sucked gently at her bottom lip before pulling away from her. He didn't move too far back, and brought his other hand to her face as he leaned his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I really am. I didn't mean to make you feel so neglected. Things have been changing for me, changing fast, and I just –"

"Changing?" she whispered back, some of the sadness creeping back into her eyes. "Like how you feel about me?"

"No!" he insisted harshly, then considered his words. His talk with Brendan from the other day flashed through his mind. "I meant my life has been changing, in a good way. I didn't mean my feelings for you, but now that you mention it, I guess, yeah – they did change."

Sammi's brow creased again and she let her hands drop from his shoulders, shrinking back against the wall.

"I knew it," she said sadly. "I put too much pressure on you. I'm sorr–"

"Will you shut up?" he said quietly, a crooked half-grin crossing his face. "I'm trying to say I love you back. Okay? This stuff isn't easy for me." He swallowed. He hadn't meant for it to come out quite that way, but there it was. He held his breath as he scanned her face. She looked startled again, then a rosy flush crept over her olive complexion, and her dimples dug deeply into her cheeks as a slow, wide smile spread over her face.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Sammi leaned against the wall, Tommy's hands still around her waist to keep her there, and they simply looked at each other. Tommy felt a little bit uncomfortable, his uttered words hanging in the air between them, unable to be taken back. He knew he couldn't take them back now, and didn't want to. It was hard for him to get to this point, hard to form the words, but he had said them, and he meant them.

As Sammi wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest, still smiling, and he realized he could smell the sweet fragrance of her hair, he thought that he really, really meant them.


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Happy belated mother's day to all the mommies reading this. You guys kick ass. Besos!**

**Chapter 35**

When they finally emerged from her dressing room and made their way back to the lobby, the two families burst into applause and Sammi blushed deeply, waving them off.

"C'mon, guys," she mumbled. It took several long moments for everyone to get their hugs in with her, congratulating her.

Mr. Carnevale smiled at his youngest, slinging an arm around her neck. "You were beautiful, honey," he said, pressing a loud kiss to her temple. "Listen, we're all going back to the café. I got pizza. You two in?"

"Yes," Sammi said. "You said 'pizza'. Duh."

"All right. You all can come?" Mr. Carnevale asked, gesturing to Paddy, Brendan, Tess and the little girls.

"Yep," Brendan replied with a smile. "Wouldn't miss it. You also had me at 'pizza'."

"Sammi!" Emily cried, dropping her father's hand and rushing toward her with Rosie at her heels. "You were so good!"

"Thanks, sweetie," Sammi said with a tiny grunt as the girls barreled into her. "I'm so glad you guys could make it!"

"It was so good," Rosie said in her tiny voice. "I can't wait to start dancing with you at your dance school."

Sammi cocked her head curiously. "Well, that won't be for a little bit yet, honey. But one day, yes."

"But Daddy said –"

"Okay, then!" Brendan exclaimed jovially, reaching out and grabbing Rosie affectionately by her ponytail and tugging her back toward him gently. "We should get goin', huh? Who's hungry? Who wants pizza?"

The girls cheered, forgetting about Sammi for the moment, and Brendan, Tess and Paddy steered them toward the door.

"We'll meet you at the café!" Tess called over her shoulder with a wave. "See you in a little bit!"

"What was she talking about?" Sammi asked Tommy as he took her by the hand and led her toward the entrance behind her family.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Tess was referencing the pizza party at your parents' café, that you father just mentioned three seconds ago," he replied patiently. "You feelin' okay?"

Sammi glared at him wryly and smacked him on the shoulder. "I meant your niece. About dancing at my 'dance school'."

Tommy shrugged and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in tight. "You know how kids are. She probably just got carried away from the excitement of finally seeing you dance. You were damn good."

Sammi glowed under his praise. "Thanks," she said quietly. "It really means a lot to me that you came." She gestured to the bouquet in her arms. "And got me these. They're gorgeous! All my favorite flowers."

"I do what I can," Tommy replied, giving her a mock cocky smile.

"Come on, you slow asses," Nik called over her shoulder. "We're hungry!"

"We'll meet you there," Sammi replied. "I want to go home and feed Rocky first, though."

"Well, hurry up!" Toni added. "Don't keep us waiting too long."

"Who said I'm takin' you anywhere?" Tommy asked teasingly. "Don't be 'we' and actin' like I'm your chauffeur."

Sammi smiled. "Aren't you?" she exclaimed. "C'mon, hurry up. I'm starving!"

They made it back to Bloomfield in record time, caravanning behind Sammi's parents and her sisters and their families. Tommy drove a few blocks past the café to Sammi's apartment and walked with her upstairs.

She stopped short at the site of her door slightly ajar.

"Tommy," she breathed.

"I see," he said, and she glanced over at him, seeing his jaw slightly clenched. "Get behind me."

Sammi obeyed hesitantly, watching as he pushed her door open noiselessly. She followed him inside her apartment as he made a quick circuit of the living room and the kitchen. When he stepped out of the kitchen, he caught her eye and pointed at the couch. The look in his eyes made her stomach clench with fear.

"Sit there," he said, his voice gentle and low, but offering no room for discussion. She immediately dropped onto the couch and watched as he crept deftly toward the back of her apartment, where her bedroom and bathroom were. After a few long moments, he returned to the living room.

"No one's in there," he said. "But Sammi…I didn't see Rocky anywhere."

Sammi shot to her feet. "Oh, my God. He probably got out – if the door was open he probably just ran out. He does that all the time if I don't watch him." As she rapidly talked she moved back to the door. "We have to find him –"

"Hang on," he interrupted, grabbing her arm. "Not to downplay your cat missing, but Sam – we just came home to your fuckin' _door_ hanging open. This is a secure building, so that means somehow somebody got in here, and broke into your apartment. Let's focus on that." He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "I'm callin' the cops."

"And I'm going to look for my cat," Sammi replied firmly. She fixed him with a stare that let him know she wasn't kidding around. Finally, he nodded and sighed.

"I'll wait for them," he said. He glanced at the door frame and saw that the wood was splintered around the lock and ran his hand over it. "Go look for Rocky but don't take too long, all right? Ten minutes tops."

Sammi nodded and without another look at him she turned on her heel and flew downstairs. She burst through the door, her heart pounding. Rocky meant everything to her; she'd adopted him from a shelter shortly after he'd been born and had raised him from a kitten. She'd never owned a pet before him, but had an extremely soft spot for animals, so she had become quite attached to him in a short amount of time, and he seemingly to her. She had done a lot of research on cats after adopting him, wanting to be as in tune with him as possible to understand how he communicated with her and what he needed. She knew that cats were extremely independent creatures and domesticated cats tended to view their humans as just that – "their" humans. She took it as a personal compliment when Rocky would come to her when she called, run to greet her at the door when she came home, and generally insist on cuddling with and being close to her at all available times. She would joke that Rocky was the man in her life, but she felt almost as though he were her own child.

It was for all of these reasons that her eyes burned with unshed tears as soon as she was outside. She knew that he was naturally a very curious animal, and had often tried to slip outside before. He wanted to sniff all the scents, nibble at the grass, chase mice and other vermin in the darkness that he could see in. He was lean and muscular, and very fast and agile. She'd witnessed him leap from the floor to the top of her refrigerator casually on many different occasions. She wondered if he could be up a tree somewhere; she knew it was cliché, but most clichés were grounded in truth.

"Rocky," she hissed harshly into the night, straining to hear rustling noises of grass that might herald his movements. His noiseless, tiny padded paws wouldn't make a sound out here. "Rock! C'mon, kitty."

She stood in place, her ears pricked for any sound. She wasn't sure how long she stood like that, but after an extended silence, she tried again.

"Rocky," she called a little louder. "Rock-kitty. Come here!" She tried all of the nicknames she had for him that he responded to, her voice higher in pitch and tone because he liked her voice that way, and stood still, listening hard again. She moved around the sidewalk that led to side of the building, calling out softly for him as she went.

She had just rounded the corner of the building when she heard a tiny, piteous little mewl.

"Rocky?" she called, and heard the sound again. She rushed toward it, blind in the darkness, calling his name and listening for his cries. Between the way the cries sounded and the fact that he hadn't run to her, Sammi felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She pulled her cell phone out to activate the flashlight application to see better in the darkness.

"Rocky," she called softly again, and swung the flashlight to her left when she heard another small, pained noise. She saw his long, lithe body stretched out in the grass about five or six feet away and hurried over, throwing herself on her knees as she examined him, feeling relief, confusion, and horror at the same time.

One of his front legs was bent at an odd angle, and there was matted blood in his soft gray fur. She stroked a hand along his body gently, fighting back tears at the way he weakly winced under her hand. Had he broken his leg somehow? Had someone done this to him? She was utterly confused and it made her heart sick to see her beloved pet in so much pain.

"It's okay, baby," she said softly. "I got you now. You're okay." She set her phone down and prepared to lean forward to scoop him up when she heard a low chuckle in the darkness. She froze. She knew it wasn't Tommy. Her body tensed as she whirled her head in the direction of the noise. She saw a dark figure approaching her slowly, but she couldn't make out his face.

"Hi, Sammi," a low voice said. Her breath and pulse picked up speed as she recognized it. Colt.

"What the hell do you want?" she demanded harshly. "Did you hurt my cat?"

"Aw, I just broke his little leg, is all," Colt said coolly. "Maybe some other things. Just wanted to leave you and your boyfriend a little message. But then I decided that wasn't enough. So here I am. You look good."

"You cruel, disgusting piece of shit!" Sammi hissed angrily. She rose to her feet, feeling adrenaline sweeping through her. That this man had admitted to hurting her pet for the sport of it infuriated her, pushing any fear she previously felt to the back of her mind. She wished briefly she had a gun, then realized it was a good thing she didn't. She was so angry right now she believed she would have shot him out of that anger.

Colt took advantage of her hesitation, and before she knew quite what was happening, he reached out and grabbed her, slamming her face-first into the brick wall of the side of the apartment building before forcing her face to the side, tilting her jaw out toward him and covering her mouth with a hand. He gripped her face hard and pressed his palm painfully against her lips while her neck throbbed from the odd angle and her forehead scraped along the sharp brick. She felt the insides of her cheeks thrusting painfully around her teeth as her jaw tightened and tensed. She felt panic rising, horrible, dismantling panic that threatened to freeze her up and make her go limp.

"See, Tommy fucked up when he fired me," Colt was whispering into her ear. "He fucked up in a huge way. But then – he fucked me over again. I don't know how he does the things he does, but that motherfucker got me banned from MMA – forever. Do you know what means, Sammi? Do you? That means I can never manage any fighters because I can't enter them into tournaments. Who wants to be managed by someone who can't even do anything for their career?"

He chuckled again, the sound horrible in her ears, and she realized she could smell a strong, pungent, sharp odor of alcohol around him. He had pressed her to the wall below a wall sconce, and in the dim light, she could see as she looked over her shoulder when he leaned into her face that his pupils were dilated almost to the size of his entire iris, and that his eyes were bloodshot, hazy, and insane. She assumed he was both drunk and high on something, all at the same time.

"So then this fucker takes my business from me. _My_ business – the one I built from the ground up. Because _he _got me banned, and I won't be able to pay any of my bills. For a day I lost two-thirds of my clientele when they found out I fired him. Then they all came back when he stole my business. Do you know how much money that comes to?" His hand was still gripping her face hard and pressing the side of her forehead into the brick hard, and it hurt so much, but Sammi refused to cry out. She only shook and stared back into his eyes.

"What hasn't he taken from me?" Colt went on rhetorically. He tightened his grip somehow, and Sammi tasted copper on her tongue again as the tender insides of her cheeks scraped tightly against her teeth. He pushed on her, and she felt a wet trickle slide down her temple as her skin gave as it raked over the brick wall. She moaned involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut at the pain. Colt was using the elbow of the hand gripping her mouth to pin one of her arms to the wall. His other hand pinned her free arm to the wall down by her side. His body was pressed against hers, and his legs somehow maneuvered against hers to wedge in between them and around them. Sammi didn't know quite how he was holding her; all she knew was that she couldn't move. Any slight tension on her part resulted in pain from the force he was exacting on her.

"The only way I see it," Colt went on, his voice dropping to a sharp hiss, "is for your fucking mick boyfriend to understand what he's done is to take everything from him." He leaned his forehead against the back of Sammi's neck and then nipped at her flesh there. She cringed, trying to lean away, only to feel a fresh burst of pain throughout her body. "I do believe that's where you come in, pretty girl. I think you're everything to him. So I'm gonna take _you."_

She began to pant at his words, feeling throbs of pain with every flex of her lungs. It hurt so much to even draw breath, since he was pressed against her so tightly, but it was involuntary as her body fell into full panic mode. She felt she couldn't catch her breath; she was terrified of what was going to happen next.

"The way I see it, things started going to shit with me and Tommy as soon as he started fucking you," Colt growled in her ear. He rolled his hips against her rear end and she moaned again in disgust. "So if I fuck you, then things will go to shit for him. It's the only way. Don't you see, Sammi-Sam? You're going to help me fuck your boyfriend." He giggled maniacally in her ear. "In more ways than one. So let's get down to business, shall we?" His hand dropped down to her waist, then lower, fumbling at the button on her jeans.

Sammi's eyes glazed over as her body froze up. Her thoughts receded, almost as though her brain were signaling to her body to give up the fight, to let things happen. Vague, distorted images of her previous attack hazed in and out of her mind, her own screams echoing through her brain intermittently. Perhaps it was best to not fight this time; it would hurt less, she reasoned dully. Colt didn't have a knife, not that she could tell. If she would only just lie still, it would be over with, all over with, before she knew it. _Just give up_, a voice in her brain whispered. _You can't fight it. Just let it happen._

Then she thought about her poor, innocent cat lying in the grass a few feet away, hurt because this _bully_ had some mad revenge to exact, and welcomed the sudden warm rush of hot, delicious anger as it flooded through her veins like it was on an IV drip in her arm. A sudden memory flashed through her brain, seemingly forever ago – one dark night, late, at the gym when Tommy had been trying to show her some self-defense moves for the class he wanted to hold. It hadn't worked when he'd been the assailant – she'd panicked. But what about when _she_ had been the assailant? She recalled his heavy leg swinging around behind hers, his arms maneuvering fast, and before she'd known it, she'd been on her ass.

Despite having never repeated the move since that night, it seemed to all come back to her in a rush.

She jerked hard, blindly, feeling pain shooting through her, but got her left leg free. She used her hips and butt to thrust back hard on Colt, putting him slightly off balance, before she swung her left leg in a giant step backward, positioning it right behind the back of his right thigh. Her arms were still trapped, but she thrust her hip hard again, throwing him even more off balance. As a result, he let go of one of her arms as it flailed in the air, trying to regain his balance, and she slammed her elbow back into the center of his face as hard as she could, feeling the flesh and bone give way with an incredibly satisfying _crunch_. She felt wetness on her elbow and realized it was from the blood that began to spurt from his nose.

He bellowed in pain, his hands going to his face as he stumbled back blindly, and Sammi used the opportunity to ram her knee into his groin as hard as she could, making him choke out a moan and a gag before doubling over, his hands now moving into his crotch as he gasped for breath. She threw an uppercut into his face before using her other fist to slam down on the back of his neck, laying him out flat on his stomach. She kicked him hard in the ribs for good measure before turning fast on the ball of her foot toward where her cat was still lying. She scooped him up as gently as she could, cringing at the tiny mewls of pain he whimpered out, and cradled him as she hurried around the corner of the building, just as the front door flew open and Tommy stepped out, his eyes searching from side to side. He immediately caught sight of her and ran down the sidewalk. He noticed the blood on her face and arm, and Rocky, and his eyes went wide.

"What the fuck –"

"Colt," she interrupted breathlessly. "He did this to Rocky, he attacked me. Or tried to. Where are the cops?"

"Where is he?" Tommy asked her calmly, ignoring her question. A sudden cold, violent anger settled over his face like a mask and Sammi's insides twisted as she shrank under his gaze. Tommy could be absolutely terrifying when he wanted to. "Where did he go?"

"He's around the corner, on the side of the building," Sammi said, regretting it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Tommy took a giant step in that direction and she used one hand to fumble at his shirt, pulling. "Tommy –"

He growled and jerked free of her grasp, running off, so Sammi had no choice but to follow him. He stopped short at the sight of the man lying face-down on the ground. Colt was still breathing, but he wasn't moving. He looked at Sammi over his shoulder, the anger replaced by an expression of absolute amazement.

"You laid him out like this?" he asked.

Sammi nodded in irritation. "Who else?" she snapped.

Surprisingly, a reluctant grin tugged up one corner of Tommy's mouth. It was more of a grimace, but he shook his head.

At the sound of their voices, Colt stirred vaguely and groaned. The anger fell back over Tommy's face, creasing his brow deeply, and he stormed over to where the man lay prone on the ground and dropped a foot on his back, digging in with the heavy heel of his athletic shoe.

"You outta your fuckin' mind?" Tommy hissed down at his former manager. "You came after Sammi? You got a death wish?" He leaned down, pressing his weight on his foot in the middle of Colt's back and the man cried out weakly in pain. His face was a bloody mess from Sammi's elbow.

The sound seemed to only spur on Tommy's rage. He knelt down, one foot still in Colt's back, and reached out and gripped the side of the man's face and pressed it hard into the pavement. Colt let out another strangled cry.

"You've gotta be fuckin' shitting me," Tommy went on in a furious undertone. "I could break your spine right now – you know that, right?" He dug in harder.

Sammi hurried forward and grabbed his shoulder. "Tommy, stop." Her voice was commanding, not a plea, and at the strength in it Tommy actually glanced up at her. "I fought him off. I put him down. Don't do this. Don't stoop to his level. Don't get in trouble over _him._" Her hand tugged insistently at his shirt. "Stand up, right now."

Tommy glared down at Colt again for several seconds, not releasing even a little pressure on either his back or face. Finally, he let go and rose to his feet. He stepped back from the man and continued to glare over at him. Sammi noticed his fists were clenched by his sides and shaking slightly. She reached up to touch his face, instantly drawing his attention.

"Calm down," she said softly. "Just calm down. For me, okay?" She pressed her palm against his cheek insistently. She felt his jaw tighten under her hand before releasing and he gave her a terse nod.

The sound of vehicles at the back of the building caught her attention. She glanced over Tommy's shoulder and saw the police, two squad cars, had arrived. She glanced back down at Colt, then at Tommy.

"Are you calm?" she said. "The cops are here."

"Go meet them," he said. "Bring them over here. I'll stay and make sure he doesn't get up or try to run."

Sammi nodded at him, meeting his gaze intently. He seemed to understand her silent question and nodded slightly.

"I'm good," he said. "Go on."

Sammi exhaled a tense breath, feeling relief flooding her body again, and rushed off to meet the cops, still holding onto Rocky tightly.

:O:O:O:

It hadn't taken long for Sammi's family to catch wind of the fact that something wasn't right. Once the cops had gotten her and Tommy's statements, and Sammi informed the police that she _did_ want to press charges on Colt, they informed her that she had to come down to the station to give a formal statement about everything that had transpired and take photographs of her wounds to submit as evidence to the prosecuting attorney.

_There goes pizza_, she thought grumpily.

She had reluctantly given Rocky to her sisters who informed her they would take him to the twenty-four hour veterinary hospital that was at least a fifteen minute drive away. Tommy had agreed to drive them there, then would head back to the police station to pick up Sammi.

Her parents had been horrified despite Sammi assuring them repeatedly that she was okay. Her mother clapped a hand over her mouth as she got into one of the police cars to go to give her statement.

"It's okay, Ma," Sammi said reassuringly.

"She's in no trouble, ma'am," one of the officers added. "This is standard procedure."

They took her to the station and she gave her statement and answered questions, then allowed the officers to take pictures of the wounds to her forehead and the inside of her mouth, as well as the bruising on her body from where Colt had gripped and pressed against her. She'd been nervous about the photographs, but a very nice female officer took her to a private room to get the photos on her body. She was then told that a prosecuting attorney would be contacting her within a day or so to get the charges formally filed. Sammi sighed, knowing she would have to return to a courtroom again at some point, but Colton Boyd deserved to be in jail for the problems he'd caused _everyone_.

Tommy was waiting for her when she came outside and he took her immediately to the veterinary hospital that Rocky was at, where her sisters still were. The vets on staff assured her that despite his broken front leg and two cracked ribs, he would make a full recovery with plenty of TLC. They planned to keep him overnight to make sure that he remained stable. Sammi hadn't wanted to leave, but Tommy gently pointed out there was nothing she could do for him that wasn't already being done. He promised to bring her back bright and early to pick him up in the morning.

Tommy drove them all back to Bloomfield, to the café. Brendan had contacted him earlier, saying that he and Tess and Paddy were heading home as the girls had been upset at the sight of the police, Sammi's wounds, and Rocky being hurt. Sammi felt horrible, even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong. She silently vowed to make it up to the two small girls.

Nik and Toni hugged their baby sister, and then took turns hugging Tommy, being careful of his own cracked ribs, before heading off with their own husbands and children.

It was almost eleven o'clock by the time Sammi convinced both of her parents that she was just fine, that nothing else was going to be happening. The threat had been resolved, she had promised them. Finally, they relented and headed back to their apartment, promising to see her first thing in the morning.

Bunz had lingered throughout everything and looked utterly exhausted. She put a hand on Sammi's shoulder.

"You want company tonight?" she asked. "I can stay over with you if you don't want to be alone. Or –" She glanced at Tommy and her full lips twisted into a little smirk. "Or I can go home."

"Um," Sammi said awkwardly. She didn't want to chase her friend off, but she also didn't want Tommy to leave.

"It's cool," Bunz said, a full grin on her face. She reached out to pull Sammi into a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

She and Tommy headed back upstairs to her apartment again. He frowned as he pulled the security chain into place.

"Have to take a look at the lock tomorrow," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I can probably fix it." He rose to his feet, stretching a little. He glanced at Sammi, leaning against the wall next to the kitchen and staring moodily off into space. "You okay? You hungry?"

Sammi shook her head. "No, I'm good. I'm just – tired." She glanced up at him and held her arms out. "Can we go to bed?"

Tommy nodded and reached out to pull her into his side. "Yeah."

He was lying in her bed quietly, waiting for her to come out of the bathroom once she had showered and brushed her teeth. His pre-bed routine didn't seem to take half as long as hers, but he was content when she finally crawled under the covers beside him wearing a white ribbed tank top that just barely covered her bottom and nothing else. As she snuggled up to his side and his hand trailed down her body, he fought the urge to really touch her like he wanted. It had been an incredibly stressful night, and he just wanted her to be able to relax and go to sleep.

Then he felt her hand begin to stroke his bare stomach sensuously and his felt himself immediately harden at her touch. It had been less than a week since their last sexual encounter but now that he'd experienced it with her, he found himself missing it and her body immensely. He stayed still but let the hand that was around her trail down a little further, finding the expanse of smooth flesh below the hem of the long tank top. He stroked it with his fingertips and was rewarded with her little shiver. He felt her lips press into the side of his neck and he tensed his muscles to repress a little shiver of his own. He turned his head slightly toward hers and before he had fully finished the movement of his head, she was hungrily attacking his mouth with her own. He could hardly keep up with her, sliding both of his hands into her hair as if to keep her head still so he could catch up and try to slow her down.

But Sammi didn't seem to want to be slowed. She maneuvered her body on top of his, careful to hold her weight up with her hands and not put pressure on his ribs. He smoothed her hair to one side and relaxed as her kisses slowed slightly and she began to suck gently at his lips and his tongue. A moment later, he felt warmth from her core as it settled directly on top his hardened length, still encased in his boxer briefs. He grunted softly at the pressure and sensation he immediately felt, and then she started moving her hips on him.

His hands slid up the sides of her thighs as she moved, rocking back and forth on him. He gripped down, tighter than he'd meant to, as she hissed in reply. But when he immediately lightened his hold, her hands fell on top of his and moved them back to where they were, encouraging him to resume his grip on her.

"Shit, Sam," he murmured, unable to look away from her hips moving on top of him. His hands moved up her thighs and around the back to grip her bottom in both hands. He wanted to be inside her in the worst way. He slipped a hand around to her front and touched her gently, already feeling her slicked with her own moisture. He stroked his thumb over her and she shivered again under his touch. Before he could repeat the action, she moved off of his hips and took the elastic waistband of his underwear in her hands and tugged down, freeing him.

He could hardly believe his eyes when she straddled his legs and hovered over his groin, her long hair trailing along his stomach. She met his eyes before the tip of her tongue passed between her lips and slid up his shaft toward his tip. His length jerked in response to the sensation. She licked around his tip again, using the flat of her tongue. He let out a sharp exhale and a soft string of whispered curses when, at once, she sucked the head of length into her mouth and gripped it tightly with her cheeks. Her mouth was warm and wet, as though she'd been salivating for him.

He couldn't look away or utter a sound when her head started moving, side to side and up and down as she worked his length with her mouth. One of her hands came up from where it rested on his thigh and gripped the base of his member, swirling slowly and tightly around his shaft as she bobbed her head to take him deeper in her mouth. He couldn't believe the sensations she was evoking, and the sight of her working on him was almost too much to bear.

When he felt his tip slide past her tonsils, he ran a hand through her hair and tugged gently, letting her know to stop. He watched as she sat up slowly, swiping the back of one hand over her lips, before reaching out and taking her by the waist, pulling her up to straddle over him again. His eyes were riveted on her hips as she hovered over him. A moment later, the sensation of his head parting her and sliding up into her hot depths, after the attention he'd received from her mouth, almost undid him but he clenched his jaw and helped her bob up and down on him slightly as she took more of his length with each downward thrust. She gasped softly at the feeling. Her hands scrambled to him as he pushed her tank top upward; she pulled it the rest of the way over her head. He lifted his hips off the bed, ignoring the burst of pain in his ribs from the effort, and she squealed as he entered her fully, buried deep inside her. Her hand unconsciously floated to her lower abdomen as though she could feel him in her stomach.

He slipped his hands up her stomach to graze her breasts, her nipples prominent from her arousal and growing harder under his touch. Sammi placed her hands over his on her breasts and began to move, her eyes closed and her head tilted back slightly as she rolled her hips forward on him. He could feel every ridge of her walls sliding over him, around him, and her wetness coated his length wonderfully. He was buried inside her, their hips flush against one another as she pushed her hips forward on him.

His hands slipped back to her waist before separating; one gripped her bottom in one hand while the other slipped around to her front to stroke her again. She moaned, deep in her throat, and leaned back, bracing her hands on his thighs as she continued to move. The positioning and angle somehow made her tighten around him, and his fingers stopped moving for one brief second as his jaw clenched and he tilted his head back into his pillow.

"Don't stop," she whined softly and he quickly began to stroke her again as her hips picked up speed. He gripped a fistful of the soft flesh of her backside in one hand and slid his fingers over tiny, hardening pearl at the top of her core, slicking it in her moisture and wishing it was in his mouth instead. As he felt her walls starting to tighten around him and flutter, he felt the hard peak of her center swell up and then she was exploding around him, from the inside and the outside, and he felt more wetness and could only watch as she shivered and moaned, her nails digging into his thighs. He lay still, waiting as she slowed the movement of her hips to collect herself. When she looked down at him, he swore he saw her eyes glow in the darkness and then she was riding him, really riding him, hard. Her hips lifted and pounded down on him as her fingers moved to his chest. His hands moved all over her, from her hips to her bottom and up and down her back, wanting to feel all of her smooth skin under his rough hands as she thrust down on him, over and over.

She leaned forward until her breasts were in his face and he slid his hands up her torso to cup them, pulling one into his mouth as he squeezed the other. He could only focus on the taste of her flesh and feeling of her tight core squeezing around him, up and down him, over and over. He was barely aware that she was trembling around him and keening out wordlessly when he felt his length reach its maximum hardness the instant before it broke deep inside her. He growled low in his chest and squeezed her harder than he meant to as he thrust his head back into the pillow, feeling himself throb out his seed into her hot, wet depths as tidal waves of pleasure rolled over him, rippling out over his skin like a pebble in a lake.

He felt her hot, sweaty skin slide against his as she leaned forward, panting into his neck. He felt a drop of sweat on the back of her neck and used his middle finger to trail it as far down her back as he could before it dried out. He swept his fingertips up and down her skin as lightly as he could, smiling at the way her flesh twitched under his touch. He closed his eyes and kept up the motion of his hands as he waited for himself to completely drain and soften inside her.

Later, when she was cleaned up and snuggled up against him again, naked this time, he kissed her forehead and pulled her in close.

"You were really, really good tonight," he murmured sleepily.

Her low giggle carried through the darkness. "Uh, thanks," she said. "I guess you could say that you woke the beast in me."

He popped open his eyes in confusion and thought about what she was saying, then had to laugh. "That's not what I meant. Just now, yes, you _were_ really, really good. But I was talking about your dance."

"Oh," Sammi replied and hugged his chest briefly. "Thank you. I'm glad that you got to see it."

"Me too," he said. "And I'm sorry about this week, for making you think I was just blowing you off. That was not the case at all. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Sammi said, and he could hear her voice getting thick with sleep. "I'm sure you were doing something really important. And, hey, you never did tell me _what_ you were doing…"

"Tell you tomorrow," he murmured back.

"Better…not forget…I won't…"

Her voice trailed off as repose finally claimed her. She could fall asleep faster than anyone he'd ever met. As her words echoed in his mind, he allowed himself a little grin before shutting his eyes and relaxing into her embrace.

_Soon enough_, he thought tiredly, feeling all of his muscles relax. _Find out soon enough._


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry so long with no update. It's been a stressful last couple of days, but I'm back now. Hope you guys like it. Read, enjoy, and review. Besos!**

**Chapter 36**

The next morning, the smell of coffee woke Tommy up from a deep sleep. He discovered the space that had been previously occupied by Sammi was empty now. He glanced over at the clock and groaned, seeing that it wasn't quite six-thirty yet. He knew she wasn't kidding about heading back to the vet hospital to get Rocky first thing in the morning.

He perked up when she reentered the room, holding a steaming mug and wearing the tank top again. He tilted his head, admiring the way it just barely covered her bottom but left all of her long, leanly muscled legs on display. He accepted the mug from her followed by a quick kiss.

"Drink up," she commanded. "I want my cat. _Ora._"

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled, sipping the hot liquid before hauling himself out of bed. They each washed up and dressed quickly, and Sammi practically dragged Tommy out of the apartment downstairs. Once they were seated in his car, he glanced at her, frowning at the little gash on her forehead that she'd covered up with a small butterfly bandage.

"How's the head?" he asked, fresh anger filling him at the thought of Colt attempting to put his hands – and worse – on Sammi.

"My head is actually fine," she said with a shrug, then rubbed her cheeks ruefully. "The insides of my mouth, from where he grabbed my face, hurt like a _bitch_, though. Nothing I can do about that." She saw the anger on his face and reached over to squeeze his thigh. "Don't worry. All's well that ends well. He got and will get what he deserves." She sipped from her own mug of coffee. "Hey, he was going on about you stealing his business out from underneath him..?" Her voice raised in question. "What does that mean?"

"Oh," Tommy said, feeling a new realization hit him. Things had moved so fast yesterday and he hadn't spoken to her all week to tell her about the new developments in his life. "Long story short, turns out Colt bribed the judges at Ithaca to throw the fight to the other guy. I was fine just leaving it alone. I mean I really didn't care that much in the first place, but Brendan went on a warpath to right that wrong, and eventually the creator of Ithaca decided that I was the winner." He shrugged, trying to ignore the giant grin spreading on Sammi's face. "So then Colt got blacklisted as a result, and I sort of got him to sign over ownership of the gym to me. Well, my lawyer did."

"How did you do that?" Sammi asked, mystified.

Tommy smirked at her. "_I made him an offer he couldn't refuse,"_ he said in his best hushed Don Corleone impression.

Sammi groaned and clapped a hand to her face, laughing. She peeked through her fingers at him. "Did you assure him that either his brains or signature would be on the contract?"

Tommy laughed out loud at that. "I wish I could say 'something like that', but no. Nothin' like that. Colt just knows he lost, fair and square. If you're goin' down regardless of what's happening…you can only fight gravity for so long." He shrugged negligently. "He just gave up before he got ahead of himself. Smart man."

"Smart man," Sammi murmured. "So now what?"

"Now, Colt's Gym becomes the 17th Street Boxing Gym starting Monday. I retain sole ownership."

"And you retain Fen and Leon?"

Tommy snorted. "Of course. They're part of the package, I guess."

Sammi leaned her head back on the seat and smiled at him. "I am so happy for you," she said softly. "Really. You always should have been working for yourself, nobody else."

"That's what I keep hearing," Tommy murmured, keeping his eyes on the road. "And my first order of business, especially after last night, is holding that women's self-defense course. And you're gonna help me."

"Uh," Sammi began doubtfully. "I don't think you want _me _–"

"No, listen. Shut up. You are. You kicked that man's ass. Women can learn a lot from you." He saw the look of skepticism on her face. "Look, just at least come to the class. Maybe you can help me with some behind the scenes stuff but you'll just be a pupil too. Okay?"

"I guess," she said.

"One other thing," Tommy went on. "I'm going to be flying out to California in a couple weeks. I want to personally hand-deliver Pilar the trust fund and college fund money for the kids." He glanced at her. "I want you to come with me. To meet them…Manny's family." He cleared his throat and glanced back at the road. "It's the next best thing to Manny gettin' to meet you himself."

"I would love that," Sammi said quietly, almost shyly. "I know what Manny meant to you. I'd – I'd be honored to come with you, Tommy."

Tommy nodded once, feeling a little bit embarrassed but glad that she'd agreed to come with him. It would be _huge _– to finally make good on his promise to his fallen brother and see that his kids were taken care of for life. And he could make sure that Pilar was comfortable too. He couldn't set her up so that she could quit her job – she'd never allow him to do that, anyway. As long as her and Manny's children were taken care of, Tommy knew that was all she ever wanted.

He glanced up briefly at the sky. _I got you, bro._ He cleared his throat.

"New topic," he joked quickly. "Tell me something."

Sammi was quiet for moment then shrugged. "Other than the showcase, I don't really have any good news. Not to be a Debbie Downer on the end of your awesome news, but – I saw yesterday that, uh –"

She broke off, and Tommy glanced over at her. She was staring out her window and shaking her head slightly. He noticed her throat working as though she were swallowing quickly.

"Saw what?" he asked.

She sighed. "I saw that the studio – you know, the little place I wanted? It – it's been sold."

"Sold?" Tommy repeated.

"Yeah. I always walk by there, you know, just to look at it and remember why I'm doing what I'm doing and what I'm working so hard for. So I thought, right before I go to dress rehearsal for my first performance in years, what better motivation than to stop by my little dream place? And I saw the sold sign in the window."

Tommy felt a little guilty that her morale had potentially been damaged by seeing the sign, but she'd danced so damn amazingly anyway that he couldn't feel that bad about it.

"Shit," he replied. "Damn. I'm sorry, Sammi."

She shrugged and he could tell she didn't really want his sympathy; it would only upset her more. "It happens, right? It wasn't going to stay vacant forever. It's honestly a great spot for like, a little bakery or a coffee shop or something. Which is probably what it will turn into."

"Would have been a great spot for a dance studio, too," Tommy said gently. He fell silent as a thought occurred to him; it was risky as it could upset her further, but it was legitimate information he needed to know, so he pressed on. "What would you have called it, your studio?" he asked carefully. "What would it have looked like…what color would you have painted the walls…stuff like that?"

Sammi smiled sadly at him. "I wanted to call it 'Inspiration Dance Academy'," she replied. "And I probably would have painted the walls lavender – that's my favorite color. With like…silver and cream accents or something. I wanted it be really comforting to come into – not like a typical dance studio. Lots of warm lights, fresh flowers. I wanted my dancers to love coming to class and learning to be pretty ballerinas in a pretty space." Her smile turned sheepish and she rolled her eyes. "Silly, I know. But…that's what I envisioned. I think they learn better that way."

"Not silly," Tommy said slowly as his mind whirled, filing away all of the information she had so helpfully and unknowingly provided. "I don't know shit about dance but that makes sense to me. It's kinda like with Brendan's trainer, Frank. He likes his fighters to train to Beethoven, to calm them down and focus on their movements, to relax and be patient. What you said made me think about that." While Tommy still wasn't Frank's hugest fan, he always had to admit that Frank's way of training was unique and clearly helpful, as evidenced by Brendan's win over him at Sparta.

"It makes sense," Sammi said. "That's a very interesting way to go about training."

"Well, anyway," Tommy said, snapping out of his reverie. "Don't stop looking at spaces. Okay? I know you had your heart set on this one, but it's not the end-all, be-all. You can still have your Inspiration Dance Academy…just in a different place."

Sammi smiled at him again. "I know. Thanks."

"We could go look, sometime," he went on, hoping he wasn't being too obvious. "At different spaces, I mean. I'd like to go with you."

"I'd like that," Sammi replied, squeezing his thigh again. "Thank you."

Tommy's face remained stoic, but inside, he was grinning like a little kid.

:O:O:O:

Tommy's first order of business, after officially starting as the sole owner of the 17th Street Boxing Gym, was to organize the women's self-defense course. It didn't take long to put together and pull in the right people; Sammi volunteered to put the slides together for the classroom portion once Tommy completed his research, and he enlisted the help of Brendan, Fenroy and Leon to work on the physical portion of the lesson. He held it over a weekend, two four-hour days, and started with two hours' worth of classroom information.

He organized the classroom lesson into three categories: Case Studies, Situational Awareness, and What To Do. He spent a solid week working on little else but the research. The physical portion, six hours' worth in total, was extremely important, obviously. However, he didn't want to skimp too much on the case studies, theories and other valuable information; women needed to know exactly what could, and frequently did, happen to them and how to avoid bad situations altogether.

He briefly thought about asking if Sammi would allow him to use her story for one of the case studies, but he immediately nixed that thought. It was still too fresh, too personal, and since the details of her case had been broadcast, even if he changed her name, people would still likely be able identify her. He did decide to run all of the case studies he found past her, though, wanting her input. They spent several late nights together, alternating between his place and hers, working on the slides.

On one such night, at her apartment, he'd tilted his head back against the sofa seat from his place on the floor and glanced up at her. "Are you okay with this stuff?" he had asked her quietly, gesturing toward his research on his laptop.

"I'm fine," Sammi had replied, glancing down at him from her perch on the couch. "In fact, I, uh – I was thinking. Since my little secret isn't so secret anymore, I thought that maybe – if you think it's a good idea – I'd be willing to talk a little bit about what happened to me. No real details, but sort of from a 'lesson-learned, this can happen to you' type of stance."

"Seriously?" Tommy asked. "You would do that?"

She had averted her eyes back toward the television she was watching, but nodded. "Yeah, I would. I think it's about time I spoke about it."

"As long as you're fine with it, I think it's awesome," Tommy had said. He felt then, and felt now, immense pride in her bravery.

Now, on Saturday morning, he stood before the group of participants and eyed them. He and Brendan had cleared an area to put down folding chairs and set up a slide projector in the middle of the gym and had run off copies of the slides and provided pens in case anyone wanted to take any notes. Sammi was sitting in the very back and he caught her eye, nodding slightly. She didn't smile, but gave him a wink and returned his nod.

As he began his introductions and moved into the lesson, he was pleased to see that all of the women were very interested, and asked plenty of questions regarding the material he had provided. When it came time for him to introduce Sammi, a hush fell over the audience as she walked to the front. Tommy was pleased to see that she walked confidently, and she didn't seem to be nervous. He nodded at her when she came to stand next to him, and took a seat off to the side and behind her.

She began recounting her story to the group of women. She talked about how she'd always been somewhat innocent and naïve about her surroundings, hearing of the awful things that happened to women every day in the world but not really applying them to herself or accepting that she, like so many other women, could ever fall victim to such horrific circumstances.

"But I did," she told them quietly, clasping her hands behind her back. "Someone noticed me, little, innocent, naïve, unobservant me. And he pounced. I almost lost my physical life. I definitely lost my sense of self; I stopped caring about things that once made me happy. I suffered from horrible PTSD. It took a lot to get me where I am today, able to live a relatively normal life, although I still have occasional panic attacks. But the fact that I can talk to you about this today is a testament to the fact that there _is _life after an attack. But our focus today is to teach you how to be situationally aware to avoid something like this altogether. And later on, show you some techniques that, with practice, can help save your life or get you out of a bad situation if you find yourself unable to avoid it." She paused, glancing around. "I implore you to make practicing the things you'll learn this weekend part of your daily routine. You ladies are mothers, wives, sisters, daughters. Friends. You're needed and loved; each and every one of you. You have touched and are touching people's lives every day – why wouldn't you do everything you can to make sure you're still around for the people that you love and who love you?" She paused briefly again, then nodded and took a step back, giving the group a little wave to signal the end of her speech. The women began applauding, and Tommy was surprised when many of them rose to their feet. Sammi looked completely embarrassed, but Tommy was incredibly proud of her.

He caught her eye. _That's my girl_, he thought. He applauded her as well and gave her a little half-smile as she walked past him, amused by the look she gave him, as if to tell him to stop.

After that, they moved the group to an area with large, thick mats set up, and began the physical training. Tommy was slightly disturbed to see that many of the women there lacked simple, basic upper body strength with absolutely no knowledge of how to throw a proper punch or manipulate their arms and legs properly. He knew it was going to be a long weekend.

By Sunday, he could tell that many of the participants had gone home from the first day to practice what they'd learned, and he couldn't hide a grin as he overheard stories of some of them trying out their moves on their poor, unsuspecting husbands. He was pleased that so many of them felt so empowered after only two hours of training the day before, and in that moment, he made up his mind to create a special series of classes geared toward women's self-defense tactics, and he planned to make this seminar a monthly occurrence. The more women he could help, the better.

Their final test was to "spar" individually with him, Brendan, Fenroy, or Leon. He and the rest of the guys donned heavy padded armor and face masks. Tommy told them that they would be required to apply all of the tactics they learned over the weekend in this final fight. The object was to avoid getting taken down, but if they did, they had to show that they could get away, off the ground, and run away.

He knew it was intimidating for them to face-off, one by one, with a large man who had training they didn't possess, in front of everyone. He did that on purpose to try and stress them out and shake them up. It recreated, on a very small scale, the type of stress they would feel in a dangerous situation. He advised the women that while the men wouldn't be really hurting them, they weren't going to go easy on them either. The first match was between a woman in her early forties named Mal and Brendan. He made sure the woman was ready, and then he looked at Brendan and nodded.

Mal had barely any time to open her mouth to shout and say "no" as Tommy had taught them. It was cheesy and cliché, but the harsh shout, as opposed to screaming for help, had shown in case studies to momentarily throw the assailant off track. There was a difference between a confident, harsh command and a scared scream. Tommy bit his lip, biting back a grin, as the woman let out a startled grunt before Brendan rushed her. He was proud when she collected herself, bellowed "_No!" _and then hit an angle against Brendan's left shoulder. His older brother was thrown off balance as she swooped past him. She reached up to grab the back of his face mask and quickly brought his head down, kneeing him in the side of his padded suit hard. Brendan let out a surprised groan before he grabbed Mal around her waist and then proceeded to take her down. Tommy winced, but he appreciated the way that Mal kept kneeing Brendan, even on the way down to the mat. Once there, Mal squirmed like mad underneath Brendan, who was attempting to pin her arms. She managed to clock him with her elbow and duck underneath one arm, and then wiggle out of his grasp and run off.

The entire room exploded in applause, and Mal blushed, waving everyone off. Brendan made a show of extravagantly bending to kiss her hand, and Tommy clapped her on the shoulder as she walked past, blushing like mad but looking very pleased with herself.

The four men took turns testing the women. Overall, Tommy was pleased to see that the vast majority of women applied most of the techniques they'd been taught. A few of them panicked when they laid eyes on their opponent, and seemed to forget everything. Tommy intervened in these cases and helped walk them through their techniques to jar their memories. Once they shook themselves out of their nervousness, the women did fine.

By the end of the four hours, everyone was sweating, but the women seemed exuberant. He liked the way they supported each other despite the fact that many of them had been perfect strangers just yesterday morning. Now, they cheered each other on, clapped for each other, helped each other out. He announced at the end that they'd all "passed" and he had Fenroy and Leon pass out personalized certificates of completion to each of the women. He told them he'd be starting up special self-defense classes and that anyone who was interested should write their email address down so he could send the schedule out once it was determined. Every single woman present signed up, promising to bring sisters, mothers, friends, neighbors.

Tommy had decided to have the gym open only for the seminar that weekend. He'd announced via email and posters around the gym to his clients that due to the "special event" of the self-defense course, the gym wouldn't be open for business. Once the day was over, he'd been glad he'd made that call – he was thoroughly exhausted. When everyone had left the gym, he thought about doing some paperwork in his office to catch up a little for the following day, but he felt restless despite his tiredness. Instead, he sauntered through the gym, wrapping his hands as he went. A few rounds with the bag would be exactly what he needed to burn off the excess energy and allow him to unwind.

He stripped off his shirt and put his gloves on, then went to work on his favorite bag. He was so intent on his task he didn't hear the footsteps behind him, until he heard a throat clearing itself quietly. He whirled around, seeing Sammi leaning against one of the posts of the ring in the middle of the room, her arms folded over her chest.

"Hey," he panted. "I thought you'd gone home."

"Nope," she replied. "Just went outside to talk to some of the women before they left. Looks like you're going to have a big roster for those classes."

"Good," Tommy replied, raking a hand through his hair. His chest and back were covered in fine beads of sweat and his arms and shoulders ached slightly; he must have zoned out during his impromptu workout and gone harder than he'd planned.

Sammi cocked her head, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as her eyes slid down him slowly. "You know, _I _never got _my _one-on-one final test, Teach."

Tommy immediately felt a surge go through him at both her words and the look in her eyes. "You didn't?" he asked. "Huh. My mistake."

Sammi smiled and reached up to tug on one of the ring ropes. "Maybe we should do that now, while all the information and the techniques are fresh in my mind." Before he could reply, Sammi pulled herself up agilely and ducked between the ropes, heading for the center of the ring. She turned around and met his eyes, then pulled her workout T-shirt over her head, revealing a white sports bra she wore with her tight black yoga pants. He watched as she kicked off her running shoes and socks, then rolled her head around her shoulders as she stretched her arms.

"Come on, Yoda," she called.

Tommy joined her in the ring, wearing just his basketball shorts and his shoes. He copied her movements and removed his shoes and socks as well, stretching out his own arms. His eyes moved over her frame, appreciating the way low-cut sports bra showed plenty of her ample cleavage, and the way her black pants clung to her hips and the lovely, perky curve of her bottom. As his body stirred below the waist, inside his shorts, he thought that perhaps this particular test would end a little differently than the others had.

He dropped into a fighting stance, playfully circling her. "I don't have the armor on," he reminded her. "So no knees to any places _you're _gonna end up regretting later."

Sammi smirked, then dodged in lightning fast, slamming against his shoulder, throwing him off balance, and cutting an angle before dancing away.

"Very nice," he murmured. "Very _fast_." Sammi hopped lightly from foot to foot, and Tommy reminded himself that she had had boxing training, once upon a time. He'd never really seen her in action this way before, but he could tell from her stance and movements that she'd had a good teacher.

He was momentarily distracted by the way her abdomen contracted when she moved, and how the air conditioning made her nipples suddenly come alive through the fabric of her sports bra, and missed her next lightning fast lunge inward as she lightly smacked his temple with the back of her hand before moving away just as fast. He shook his head and glanced at her face, seeing she was unsmiling, but her eyes were dancing merrily. She loved that she'd caught him off guard twice now.

_No more_, he thought, his slightly competitive nature rising to the top. He lowered his head and studied her shoulder line intently, still circling her as he brought his hands up loosely into guard. He feinted to one side and she fell for it, moving to block, before he lunged from the other side. He kicked her feet out from underneath her then caught her before she could fall over, gently pushing her away as he playfully smacked her bottom. He laughed at her expression before his eyes slipped down her body once again, unable to resist checking her out for the umpteenth time. The heightened tension and the light physical contact was distracting and was doing nothing for his hardening length; this was almost – _almost _ – as good as foreplay.

He circled her as she danced around him, and they took turns feinting and lunging with no real contact. She skipped in toward him, ducking to one side before leaning back the other way and kicking the back of his knee, making his leg buckle before she twirled away. He growled, righting himself, and began circling her in a way that had her back against the ropes in a matter of moments. He lunged, and she ducked swiftly under his arms. _Fast_, he thought, impressed. _But not fast enough_.

Before she could dance out of reach again, he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back against his chest. For a moment he held her there as she looked back at him. He pressed his hips forward slightly, right into the soft, curved flesh of her bottom so she could feel him. Her eyes hazed out for a moment, the warm, bright brown color darkening as she felt him pressing against her. Then, they sharpened with focus as a startled look entered them when he lifted her high into the air. He grinned up at her, then slammed her onto her back onto the mat, like he had when they had played together in the ring the first time so many weeks ago.

Air expelled from her lungs when her back made contact and her eyes went wide. She let out a breathless laugh and Tommy leaned over her, his hands planted on either side of her.

"I guess I failed the test, huh?" she asked throatily, looking up at him. He looked at the fine sheen of sweat on her arms and chest and stomach and licked his lips.

"I accept extra credit," he replied, then dipped his head to run the tip of his tongue up her sweaty throat to her pulse.

She bit her lip and made a noise of pleasure, then grabbed him by the back of the head and pulled him down toward her as she lifted herself up on one elbow. Their mouths crashed together and for a moment all Tommy was aware of was their lips, tongues and teeth, pulling and pushing, nipping and licking frantically. It seemed they were both on a mission to get into each other's mouths as deeply as possible. She tore her mouth from his and then licked down his neck, her tongue and lips moving lower over his chest as she tasted his sweat. Her hands slid over his back and her nails dug in when he gripped her jaw in one hand and forced her mouth back to his, reaching in deep with his tongue.

He reached down to grip one of her thighs hard, then used his knees to roughly push her legs apart. He looked down into her smoldering eyes before he thrust his hardness right up against her, and she gasped sharply. Most of the sound disappeared into his mouth as he claimed her lips with his own again. He felt her hands gripping and sliding over his sweaty skin and he sucked against her lips before licking down over her chest, lapping up every bit of her sweat he could taste. He dipped his tongue between her breasts and she groaned. She lifted her head and grabbed the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. Lust made her eyes flash urgently.

"I want it now," she whispered raggedly. "In this ring." Before he could move she reached down to yank her sports bra up over her head before moving to tug her pants down her hips until she could get one leg out. The other leg remained inside the corresponding pantleg, shoved down to her knee. Tommy bit his lip as she reached for the waistband of his shorts, taking in the sight of her. She wore a white thong and nothing else, and he let her push his shorts down as he lowered his mouth to one breast, teasing the nipple and tasting more of her sweat.

"Tommy," she whined softly. "Take them off!"

He grinned against her skin and nipped her breast lightly, making her squeal. He leaned his weight onto his forearms, making a mental note to re-sanitize the ring mat first thing tomorrow morning, and pushed her on her back. She collapsed with a sigh, then grunted softly when he reached down and tore her panties at the waist, pushing them down her thigh.

"Sorry," he whispered in her ear, pulling her lobe between his lips.

"It's okay," she panted back, her legs lifting to press against his sides. "Please. Now."

He used his teeth to grip her throat and pulled himself the rest of the way out of his shorts. He ran his tip along the slit of her opening, shuddering when he felt her immense moisture coating him and making her groan. He thought about teasing her a little more, but then he felt himself throb with need in his own hand, so he pushed one of her legs over his shoulder and lined himself up at her entrance before pushing into her tightness in one rough push.

He still held her throat between her teeth, and felt it vibrate against his tongue when she moaned even more loudly. He nipped down hard to make her squeal again before lifting his head and his upper body. He realized they were in a corner of the ring and she reached behind her with one hand to grip the pole as his hips moved with a mind of their own, slamming into her strongly as her legs tightened around him, one over his shoulder and one around the back of his ass. She brought her face to his chest again, licking the fresh sweat that began to trickle down, her tongue swiping over his hot flesh. He rolled into her deeply and her head tilted back, her lips parting to emit a gasp. Her eyes were slits and she moaned softly with each thrust, trying to keep her voice down.

Tommy looked down at her, clenching his jaw. He decided he didn't want her to keep her voice down.

He pulled out of her quickly as her eyes opened wide in surprise, and he leaned back on his knees, pulling her legs from around him and flipping her over. She grunted softly at the rough treatment from his harsh, needy hands, but looked back at him over her shoulder, excitement in her eyes. He drew her hips back toward his, simultaneously pulling her back on her hands and knees, and then entered her roughly from behind. The change in angle and friction caused her to let out a strangled yelp that quickly melded into moans that grew increasingly in volume as he thrust in and out of her. She was glove-tight around him and he filled her to the brim. The ridges of her walls, so thickly wet with her excitement, felt amazing sliding against his length, gripping him and releasing him rapidly as he moved his hips forcefully. His hands moved all over her body, gripping her shoulder, sliding down her sweat-slicked back, gripping her hips for control. He slipped one hand up her back and yanked the elastic out of her hair, freeing her ponytail. She flung her head and her hair spilled down her back. Tommy let out a soft grunt and wound one hand into her thick, flowing locks, tugging gently to pull her back deeper onto him. He maneuvered his thighs to make her press hers tightly together and at this new, ultra-tight sensation, he cursed and clenched his jaw tightly.

Sammi was definitely not being quiet now, and he lent an attentive ear to her moans. He let go of her hair to reach around her front to squeeze her breast for a moment, before sliding his hand over her shoulder and into her hair again, this time grabbing handful near her scalp as he beat into her. She started to moan a strange, liquid combination of his name and a random curse word over and over. She reached a hand back to grab his hip, encouraging him to hit her off as deeply as he could manage. He obliged, and her hand moved to stroke the sweaty skin of his taut stomach. Suddenly her nails dug into his flesh and her thighs trembled and tightened around him, and her inner walls gripped him tighter than ever. Her back bowed and her head fell forward and Tommy realized she was coming, and coming hard. He heard a low, strangled shriek erupt from her throat as her body shuddered. Her dark hair suddenly went flying as she whirled her head around to meet his eyes, and it was too much for him – her orgasm was at its peak and her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were practically black with lust, her lips swollen, moist and parted to give her moan room to flow out of her throat. He made a noise, rumbling deep in his chest, and then he was climaxing, picking up where she was leaving off. He leaned over her to bury himself as deeply as possible inside her and groaned throatily into the smooth skin of her back, squeezing her bottom as his hardness broke inside her and incredible pleasure barreled into him.

He pushed her flat on her stomach and leaned on top of her, both of them fighting for breath. He kissed her cheek and then nibbled her ear until she squealed with laughter. He pulled out of her and rolled over onto his back, slapping her bare bottom as he went. He panted as he glanced at her, her hand reaching out for him and snaking over his abdomen.

"You passed," he managed, as Sammi laughed and smacked him lightly on the chest.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

The plane descended into Los Angeles in the late afternoon, and Sammi had to restrain herself from pressing her face to the airplane window. She normally hated to fly, but she was utterly excited for this trip, and even from the air, L.A. was a huge change from Pittsburgh. It was brightly sunny, and the sight of palm trees waving in the breeze made her feel indescribably happy. She looked at the swirling interstates packed to the brim with cars, the houses built into the hills, the tall buildings of downtown L.A., and felt she could have sky-dived out of the plane had it not finally touched the ground when it did.

"Easy, killer," came Tommy's teasing voice from the other side of her, and Sammi realized she was practically panting with excitement. She covered her mouth and grinned at him, and though he only gave her a little half-smile back, she knew he was pleased to see her looking so happy. She wondered how could _anyone_ be sad in the Golden State, and determined it just wasn't possible.

She bounced with impatience in her seat as she waited for their row to be able to deplane. It seemed to take forever to navigate through the huge expanse of Los Angeles International Airport, and she was eternally grateful that she'd listened to Tommy's advice – _order_ – that she pack just a simple carry-on with only the bare necessities for the weekend. There was a lot to see and do here, he agreed, but they could come back another time to do that. They were here to see Pilar and the kids, and maybe spend a little time at the beach, and then it was back to Pittsburgh they went. He promised they'd take a real trip soon; now that he'd signed a contract, rather reluctantly, with TapouT Clothing with Brendan, he had several meetings to attend in regards to finding out what he needed to do. Every time Sammi gently pointed out that some sort of photographic advertising campaign usually followed, he got grumpy.

Once they stepped outside the airport to wait for a taxi, Sammi sucked in a deep breath, loving the warmth from the sun and in the air against her skin. It was a sharp contrast to Pittsburgh, which was at this time of year generally cool, cloudy and rainy. She tilted her head back and shut her eyes, basking in the feeling of the rays on her face.

"Looks like someone likes the West Coast," Tommy said, and Sammi opened her eyes to smile at him. She liked the way the bright sun lightened his normally stormy pewter eyes to an almost light shade of blue.

"I do," she said. "After a whole two minutes here, I definitely do." She shut her eyes again and sighed happily. "I could get used to this." She was amazed that her entire mood had shifted; not that she'd been unhappy lately, but right now, she felt incredibly _light_. She felt, for the first time in a very long time, completely carefree.

The taxi finally came, and Tommy directed him to the car rental business that was near the airport. Sammi knew nothing about the trip other than the purpose and the fact that she was on it, so she had no idea where they would be staying. Once Tommy had picked up their reserved vehicle, he loaded their bags in and nodded at her, moving to open her door for her.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see," he replied.

It felt like they drove forever, but Sammi didn't really mind as it gave her a chance to take in all the Los Angeles scenery as they drove. She was awestruck by the tall California mountains, the incredible traffic, the palm trees, the people. She even caught a glimpse of the famous Hollywood sign built into the hills.

"We definitely have to come back," she murmured, and Tommy laughed.

Gradually she began seeing signs for Long Beach. "Long Beach?" she asked. "That's where we're staying?"

"Sort of. Parts of it are kinda shady. Not the best neighborhoods," Tommy replied, calmly navigating the car through the intense traffic.

"Oh, you takin' me to the 'hood?" Sammi teased.

Tommy laughed. "You tell me."

Eventually, the rundown neighborhoods thinned out and Sammi noticed they were driving through a relatively posh area, with tall condominium-type buildings. And as they drove, she glimpsed a wide, blue expanse of ocean peeking between buildings. The sight of the Pacific Ocean and the long stretch of beach in front of it thrilled her. She wanted to run to it and lose herself beneath the waves.

Finally he pulled in front of a large house that seemed small to be a hotel, but looked lavish nonetheless; there was actually a doorman in a uniform in front of it and a valet. Sammi was amazed; she'd never seen or experienced anything like it. Tommy got out and handed the keys to the valet before he pulled their bags from the car and smiled at her.

"C'mon," he said. "I'm starved. Let's put these bags down and take a walk on the beach. Seafood sound good to you?"

"Yes," she replied immediately, her eyes huge as they entered the large, exquisite house. She saw that it was actually a bed and breakfast, and the back of it faced the ocean. The owner met them at the door and showed them directly to their room, which happened to be on the first floor, and had a sliding patio door that led right out onto the beach, much to Sammi's delight. She pressed against the patio door, feeling the sudden urge to tear it open and go racing out across the soft-looking sand, right into the water. She contented herself with watching how the still-bright sun, though it was almost six in the evening, glimmered off the water. It was breathtaking. She felt a pair of arms slip around her from behind, and then Tommy was lightly brushing his lips to her ear.

"This is incredible," she said, hugging his arms. "All this for a little weekend trip, huh?"

He shrugged. "I felt bad that we couldn't do all the touristy, I'm-in-Cali shit," he replied. "Like, Disneyland and all that. So I thought you deserved a little luxury."

"I cannot see you at Disneyland," Sammi blurted out. In her mind's eye she saw Tommy wearing a pair of Mickey ears with a sullen expression on his face and she burst out laughing. He looked at her as though she'd just sprouted wings and that made her laugh harder.

"I would go," he insisted. "I guess. I mean, if you wanted to, I would go. I'm man enough for that."

"How sweet," she chuckled back. "I'm holding you to that." Suddenly she felt and heard her stomach growl loudly, and it was Tommy's turn to laugh at her.

"You hungry?" he asked. "There's a seafood place about a half-mile down the beach. Thought we could walk there." It sounded heavenly to Sammi's ears.

She unfolded herself out of his arms and hopped up and down like a child. "What are we waiting for?" she demanded. "Let's go!"

:O:O:O:

Sammi found that the time change caused her to grow sleepier in the evening than what California time would suggest was appropriate, but it also allowed her to wake up much earlier than she normally would on a vacation or short trip. And at six in the morning the next day, she lay awake in bed, listening to the crying of the sea gulls outside and the sound of the waves crashing against each other in their race to claim the shore. The sun wasn't quite up yet; a little storm has passed through the night and the clouds were beginning to roll out. It was gray and slightly misty in the early hours of the morning.

She basked in the peace of the moment, lying silently and still and feeling the warmth from Tommy's body against her own skin. She reflected on the purpose of the trip – they were here for Tommy to do something _huge_, to make good on a promise to a dear friend unlike any other he'd ever had in his life. A friend who had lost his life, and whose loss of life caused Tommy a great deal of guilt and grief. He hadn't been able to save Manny's life, but now, he could make sure that Manny's widow and their children could have a great one.

She glanced over at his sleeping form next to her in the dim light of the early morning. She wondered, not for the first time and surely not the last, how someone who had gone through everything he had could have turned out the way he did. Though he could be rough around the edges at times, and sometimes she felt like his anger was just _barely_ kept in check, he had one of the biggest hearts she'd ever known, and the way he seemed to be so in tune with her never ceased to boggle her mind. Every good thing that had happened to him as of recent was not only deserved, but _just_. Things _should_ have turned out the way they did for him, because he was one of the greatest people she'd ever met. Hell, in the span of a couple of months, he'd helped her evolve beyond what she even believed she was capable of. While she knew that making changes within herself was solely up to her Tommy had played a huge role in helping her get her life back together. The idea of loving him was a scary one, because that required her to place all her trust in another human and hope for the best that he wouldn't hurt her, but it was something she knew she couldn't change. She loved Tommy. She loved him, and that was that. It seemed very simple now where it once had been so complicated.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, Tommy sleepily opened his and glanced over at her, catching her staring at him. "That wasn't creepy at all," he teased, his voice husky and deep from sleep. She smiled and scooted closer, turning to press her back to his chest and wrap his arm around her. She faced the window and could watch as the first rays of sun slipped between the remaining clouds and spilled out over the ocean.

Tommy's hand idly trailed down her torso, stopping on her hip and pulling it back against him as he gently pressed his hips forward, letting her know silently that he was ready for her. His lips pulled at her earlobe as he reached down to pull the short nightie she'd slept in up over her hips. Sammi bit her lip and closed her eyes, leaning her head back as she enjoyed the feeling of his hands moving over her skin. That was another thing – she still couldn't believe that he'd turned her into such a sex enthusiast. Granted, it was sex with _him_ and not just sex in general. But the slightest touch from him always had her turned on and humming like a well-oiled machine, and she felt like she'd never be able to get enough.

She felt his hand brush against her backside as he maneuvered his boxer-briefs down, and then she felt the thick length of him pressing against her. She allowed him to lift her top leg and drape it back over his while he placed himself between her legs, right against her core. She'd been moist before he'd even woken, and she let out a tiny groan as he slid his tip along her wetness. She felt herself throb with need the instant before he parted her and pushed inside. The feeling of him inside her at this angle made her gasp with pleasure, her eyes flying open for a moment as he spooned her, his hips moving deliberately and insistently. She heard his breathing quicken as a low grunt raked through his throat. The arm below her head bent, and a moment later, his hand buried itself in her hair while his other hand roamed her body freely as his hips moved, thrusting into her deeply. She moved her hips back on him in time to his thrusts, meeting each of his upward pushes with a sharp downward movement. He grasped her breasts before his hand moved to her throat, squeezing lightly as he breathed deeply through his nose.

He was hitting some magical spot deep within her, sending sharp tingles of pleasure racing through her pelvis with each movement. If felt so indescribably wonderful that she had to struggle to keep her orgasm at bay; she wanted to feel this feeling forever. But his thrusts became so insistently hard, so deliciously rough, that she was finding it more and more difficult to ignore the pleas of her body to release. She felt him grow even harder inside her as she squeezed down around him, feeling her own moisture gush around his length.

"_Fuck_, Tommy," she whispered, and at hearing her utter his name, his hand tightened slightly around her throat and his other hand tightened in her hair. "I'm about to come!"

He bit the back of her neck. "Do it," he murmured back. She squeezed around him again, and he growled deeply in his throat. "Ah, Sammi, fuck. Come for me."

And she did, feeling like her entire lower half was imploding and exploding at the same time. She turned her face into the pillow to cry out her release as his hands gripped her tighter. She was still trembling when she felt Tommy's thrusts increase in both force and speed and then he grunted quietly into her skin, and she felt him throbbing inside of her, still moving his hips as he rode them through both of their aftershocks.

"Holy shit," Sammi breathed, trying to catch her breath. "Let's take a nap and then see that again in instant replay."

Tommy let out a breathless laugh and squeezed her. "I wish we could. But don't forget we have an important day today. Rain check?"

"Yes," Sammi murmured, feeling sleepy again. Tommy let her sleep for a couple more hours, and then she was waking up again to the feeling of him kissing the back of her neck.

"Time to get up," he said in her ear. "C'mon."

A little while later, they were in their rental heading for another part of Long Beach. It was not as posh as the area they were staying in, and it was far from the roughness they had encountered when they first arrived. It was a mid-level suburban area, filled with trees and nice houses and children. He turned down a street and slowed the car, squinting at the houses as they passed, checking the addresses.

"There it is," Sammi said suddenly, pointing down the street. Tommy nodded his thanks and pulled up to the curb in front, then turned off the engine. He almost seemed nervous, so Sammi squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly.

"You're about to change their lives," she said quietly. "This is an amazing moment."

"I know," he replied. "I just haven't seen them in so long – it feels weird being here. Without Manny."

"Oh, he's here," Sammi said. "He's definitely here." She pulled on his hand. "Let's go."

She followed him up the driveway and onto the porch while Tommy knocked on the door. He cleared his throat and stood still, waiting for the door to be answered. He still looked nervous, so Sammi rubbed his back as they waited.

Finally, the door opened, and a pretty, petite Hispanic woman peered out at them. For a moment she looked utterly confused; then recognition dawned in her eyes and she cried out, her hands going to her mouth the instant before she threw herself at Tommy and hugged him fiercely. Tommy staggered slightly from the force of Pilar's enthusiasm, but he embraced her back as she began to sob.

"Hey, P," he said softly. "It's good to see you."

With a sniffle, Pilar pulled back from him, wiping her hands across her cheeks and shaking her head. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I don't see you for a couple years and _this_ is the hello you get. Seeing you is like seeing Manny." She dried her eyes and smiled up at him, then glanced at Sammi.

"Hello," Sammi said shyly, suddenly feeling like she was intruding.

"This is Sammi," Tommy added. "My girl."

"Oh, _hi,_" Pilar said enthusiastically. She looked at Tommy and smiled proudly. "You finally found one," she added teasingly.

Tommy smirked. "I did."

"Come on in, you two," Pilar said. "Sorry. I'm so flustered right now. What are you doing in L.A.?"

Sammi followed Tommy into the modest home, noting with amusement the toys scattered around. It was very clear that two children – a boy and a girl from the photos – were the center of the universe of this household.

"Oh, just hanging out," Tommy said vaguely, catching Sammi's eye for a moment. "Thought we'd drop by. I wanted to see you, and introduce you to Sammi."

"Well, I'm glad you did," Pilar said warmly. "Would you guys like some lemonade?"

"Yes, please," Sammi said.

"Where are the kids?" Tommy asked.

Pilar smiled and pointed to the backyard before she went into the kitchen. Sammi craned her neck and saw a little boy who looked like he was about eight years old and a little girl who might have been six, playing on a swing-set in the fenced in yard.

A moment later, she heard a screen door open. "Kids," she heard Pilar call. "Come see who's here."

The two children came into the kitchen and then into the living room. "Tommy!" the little boy shouted, and ran toward him. Tommy laughed and grabbed the little boy, tossing him into the air.

"Hey, little man," he said. "You been good?" The little boy nodded and grinned. Tommy held his arm out to the little girl, who seemed shy but happy to see him. "C'mere, you." She came to him and he folded her into a hug, giving her a loud kiss on her head. "How have you been, Lettie?"

"Good," the little girl replied.

Tommy glanced up at Sammi. "Sammi, this is Manny, Jr. and Lettie. Can you guys say hi?"

"Hi!" Junior shouted.

"Hi," Lettie said quietly.

They were both adorable, Sammi thought, and she loved the smile they brought to Tommy's face. Pilar came back into the living room with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses, and invited Tommy and Sammi to take a seat. She poured out the beverages.

"So, what are you guys getting into while you're here?" Pilar asked.

"Not too much," Tommy replied. "We're just here until tomorrow morning."

"When did you get here?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Short trip," Pilar said, her brow creasing quizzically.

Tommy exchanged a look with Sammi, then gave Pilar a half-smile. "We came to see you, actually."

"Just to see me?" Pilar repeated, seeming confused. "Why?"

Tommy leaned forward, glancing at the kids who were playing with some of their toys in the corner. "To make a long story short, I fought in another big tournament last month. And I won."

"That's great," Pilar said. "Congratulations." She still seemed a little confused.

Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I won a lot of money, Pilar. Enough to where I could do some things for you and the kids. Some things I promised Manny I would do."

Pilar's eyes suddenly watered and she brought a hand to her mouth. Tommy handed her the envelope, looking at her earnestly. "All you need to know is in there, but the short version is that the kids have college funds, enough to where they can go wherever they want when they get to that age." Pilar couldn't keep in a sob as she clutched the envelope, her eyes huge and glued to Tommy. "And they've also got trust funds set up for when they turn eighteen."

"Tommy," Pilar sobbed, trying to keep her voice down. "You didn't have to do –"

"I wanted to," he interrupted. "I had to. For you, for them. For him."

"It's too much," Pilar said, shaking her head. "Too much."

"It's not enough," he replied. "And I didn't forget about you – there's a check in there for you too. You should be comfortable." He nodded at the envelope. "Go ahead. Open it."

Pilar sniffled and opened the envelope. There was paperwork regarding the college and trust funds neatly folded, and she pulled out the check that belonged to her. Her eyes widened when she saw the amount and her mouth fell open.

"_Ay, Dios mio!_" she exclaimed. She looked at Tommy and began talking at him in rapid Spanish. Sammi knew just enough to understand that Pilar was both thanking him and also scolding him at the same time, while tears coursed down her cheeks. She suddenly felt that maybe she needed to give them a moment alone. She caught Tommy's eye and gestured to him that she wanted to take the kids outside. He immediately caught her drift.

"Hey, kids," he called. "Take Sammi out back and show her that swing-set that your dad and I put together for you."

Junior and Lettie rose to their feet and Sammi followed them outside, hoping it would be long enough for Tommy and Pilar to talk. She walked out into a sprawling backyard and eyed a shoddily constructed swing-set. She bit her lip to stifle a laugh.

"You guys want a push?" she asked, and both children nodded eagerly and moved to sit on the swings. As she began pushing them, Junior turned to look over her shoulder.

"Not too high," he cautioned, and Sammi smiled at his very responsible manner. "Dad and Tommy didn't have time to put the cement around the poles so if we go too high, it makes a _whomping_ sound and tilts up."

"What was that sound?" Sammi asked with a grin.

Junior smiled toothily. "_Whooooooooooomp!"_ he shouted and Sammi chuckled.

"Okay. Not too high." She pushed the kids lightly and they pumped their legs to gain more momentum. She watched carefully to make sure the swing set didn't topple over and then glanced over her shoulder at the house, wondering how things were going. She knew that today was a life-changing day for them both; it was a lot to process and handle.

She spent the better part of half an hour with the kids, playing with them and listening to their stories about school and their father. They were both very young, but old enough to recall him vividly and relay their favorite memories of him. Lettie remembered the way he would always make heart-shaped pancakes just for her every Sunday morning after church and how he would always play doctor when her stuffed animals got "sick" or hurt, never failing to make them all better. And Junior remembered the way they would play tag in the backyard and even when it seemed like he could _never _catch his fast-moving father, somehow, he always did. Several times, Sammi found her eyes burning with moved, unshed tears and had to widen them slightly and blink rapidly to contain them, as her throat grew tight and burned. She already knew that Manny had been a great friend to Tommy; now she knew he had also been an excellent father and husband, as well. Her heart ached for his children; she couldn't imagine what it would be like to grow up without a father. She had her own very special memories of her father and couldn't possibly fathom what it would be like to have only eight years to look back on, instead of almost twenty-eight and counting.

Finally, Tommy opened the back door and all three turned from where they were sitting together on the grass. He smiled at Sammi and walked out to them.

"Your mom says it's almost time to go to your grandma's," Tommy said to the children, kneeling down next to them. "She said she wants you to go get your backpacks and get ready to leave." The children got up to hurry into the house and Tommy held his hand out to Sammi. "You ready?"

"How'd it go?" Sammi asked, taking his hand as he helped her up to her feet.

"Good," Tommy said. "Really good. She's a mess." He chuckled slightly. "I feel like I just completed a mission or something."

"You did," Sammi replied, hugging his side.

They walked into the house as Pilar was finishing getting her kids ready. She looked up at them apologetically.

"I am really sorry to rush off like this," she said. "If I had known you were coming, I would have made other plans so we could all go to dinner, and you could spend more time with them." She gestured to Junior and Lettie.

"Don't worry," Tommy said. "That's why it was a surprise. We're going to come back out here again soon once my schedule slows down a little; we'll come see you then. Take the kids to Disneyland or something."

"That would be very nice," Pilar said with a smile. "I'll make you some home-cooked Mexican, the real stuff." She winked at Sammi.

"It was nice to meet you," Sammi said. "And the kids." She grinned at the children. "I'll miss you guys."

"We'll miss you," Lettie said shyly, hiding her face in her mother's hip.

"You better come back!" Junior added threateningly, putting his hands on his hips.

"Whoa," Sammi said in mock fear, raising her hands. "All right, all right. I promise!"

Pilar laughed and rubbed her son's head. "They'll come back soon, all right, Junior? C'mon, you guys. _Abuelita_ is waiting for us."

They all walked outside and Tommy leaned down to hug each one of the children in turn. "You guys be good for your mom," he said softly to them. "I'll be calling you soon to check in."

"You'll come back, Tommy?" Junior asked in a small voice.

"Yep, I promise, little man," Tommy replied. "In fact, when I call you, I'll tell you _exactly _when we'll be coming back. Okay?"

"Okay," Junior said, and threw his arms around Tommy's neck again.

Pilar turned to Sammi and smiled warmly. "It was very nice to meet you," she said sincerely. "I'm really happy Tommy has found someone like you. He's like a totally different person since the last time I talked to him." She squeezed her arm and laughed a little. "Sorry I was such an emotional wreck today. Next time will be different."

"Don't worry," Sammi replied. "Today was a big day. I know it meant a lot to him to be able to do this."

"It means a lot to me," Pilar said softly. She glanced upward briefly. "And to Manny. I know it."

Tommy rose from his crouched position on the ground and turned to Pilar. "See you soon, okay?"

"Yes," Pilar said with a smile. She reached out and embraced Tommy, and put her face against his. Sammi heard her murmuring something to him, but she couldn't make it out. She suddenly felt bad for unintentionally eavesdropping and walked a few paces away, waving at the kids in the car.

After a moment, Tommy joined her, placing his hand on the small of her back and guiding her down the driveway.

"See you soon," Pilar called, waving to them. They waved back and climbed into the rental, as Pilar got behind the wheel of her own car and pulled out of the driveway to take her children to their grandmother's.

"You good?" Sammi asked lightly, squeezing his hand. Tommy smiled and nodded.

"Good."

"What'd she say to you?" Sammi asked, ashamed of her nosiness but unable to contain her curiosity.

Tommy laughed. "Nosy as _hell_," he muttered, then grinned. He tugged on her hand to bring her closer, and gave her firm kiss before pulling away from the curb.

"She said you're a keeper."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: You guys. This is it. I am so pleased and sad and proud to bring you the conclusion of In the Land of Gods and Monsters. I want to thank each and every one of you for all of your support and comments and feedback. I feel like I've made several new friends through writing this story and I appreciate you all SO DAMN MUCH - in particular, Nik216, CTinaisfashion, Mals86, southernlove87, cupcakecarrie, johnnystormsgirl and SO MANY OTHERS. This is the biggest story I've written to date, it's gotten the most reviews of anything else I've written. Holy cow. You guys did it for me. I'm actually getting teary writing this, so I should probably stop now. **

**Once again, thank you all so much. I have no words to describe how I feel right now. **

***gracious ballet curtsey***

**Besos, and much love to you all. Hopefully I'll see you guys again in my other stories. **

**-Winter**

**P.S. ****I implore you to check out the song (Champion by Chipmunk) I reference at the end - it's really good and very inspirational. It got me through two half-marathons. :-) Once again - thank you, and good night. Much love!**

**Chapter 38**

Sammi stretched out on her sofa lazily, Tommy sprawled on top of her. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, and they were both dozing in and out of sleep. Their bags were still on her living room floor. They'd gotten back from the airport a couple hours ago, and had done nothing other than feed Rocky before collapsing on the couch.

"That time difference is a real bitch," Sammi murmured sleepily, unable to open her eyes.

"Mm-hmm," Tommy replied, nuzzling her stomach. As if on cue, it growled loudly. He sighed. "Does it _never_ stop?"

"Hey," Sammi said defensively. "I'm a growing girl. I have a big appetite."

"You haven't grown since you were like, thirteen," Tommy said, his voice muffled in her flesh. "I saw the pictures. You just like to eat. It's cool. I can appreciate that in my women."

"Your 'women'?" Sammi replied, opening her eyes fully and lifting an eyebrow at him. He lifted his face from her belly and grinned at her.

"Now that I have your attention," he said, "let's go get some food. I can't deal with hearing your stomach gurgle all night."

She laughed and swatted his head. "Well, you said the magic word. Food is definitely the way to my heart."

"And also your –" He stroked his hand between her legs and she let out another laugh, this one somewhat more breathless than the first.

"Don't start," she warned. "I'm cranky until I've been fed."

"Don't I know," Tommy replied sarcastically. He got off of her and pulled her to her feet, glancing at the time. It was shortly before six o'clock.

"What sounds good on a lazy Sunday evening?" Sammi asked with an enormous yawn. She couldn't believe how tired she felt. Food, and then bed were definitely in order. She licked her lips as she eyed Tommy. What happened _in _the bed, and whether or not they went right to sleep, was an entirely different matter.

"Actually, I was thinking that Elements place downtown," Tommy said. "You've made me a believer. That steak I had was awesome."

"I don't want to change, though," she whined. She was wearing a simple, loose off-the-shoulder T-shirt, skinny jeans and spiky-toed flats. It was certainly not appropriate for the upscale restaurant. "And that place is fancy."

"Fuck fancy. I want steak. We'll get it to go," Tommy said with a shrug. He tossed an arm around her shoulders and hauled her into his side. "Damn, you are a whiny brat when you're hungry and tired. You're like an infant."

"I'm glad you know this now," she shot back. "It will save you so much grief later on."

"Save _me_ grief?" he repeated, amused.

"Yes. Now feed me." She stretched up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, before pressing her lips to his indulgently. His full, soft lips moved against hers. She smiled. "And then feed me," she added suggestively.

"Yes, ma'am," he said in her ear before nibbling it lightly. Her stomach growled again loudly, and he sighed, smacking her bottom as he moved toward the door. "Let's go. Your stomach is cock-blocking me again."

"Some things just come first," she said with a grin, reaching up for another kiss on the way out.

:O:O:O:

Traffic in Pittsburgh was remarkably bad on any given night of the week, but surprisingly, parking was not horribly difficult to find on a gloomy Sunday evening. Nonetheless, Tommy had been forced to park a couple blocks away from Elements, the closest space he could find.

Sammi hopped out of his car and wrapped her black vegan leather jacket around herself. It dawned on her that she'd completely forgotten to call their order in on the way – now they'd have to sit and wait there while it was prepared.

_Oh, well_, she thought, smiling at him as he came around the car and hugging his arm. _I can think of worse ways to spend my time._

As they walked down the block toward the restaurant, Sammi's mood darkened slightly. They were nearing the corner where her studio – _not my studio _– had been. When they reached the corner, she stopped in her tracks, and tugged his arm.

"I want to see if anything's been done to it," she said. Tommy looked at her doubtfully.

"You sure that's a good idea?" he replied, not budging though she pulled on his arm. He reached out and grasped her shoulders. "Listen, this place is water under the bridge. Tomorrow, you and me – we'll go look around at some places, okay? Don't torture yourself."

"I just want to see," she said softly. "I guess I want to make sure that it's taken care of right." She rolled her eyes and shrugged. "It was my baby for so long I still feel protective over it."

Tommy sighed, but shrugged. "As you wish."

Sammi pulled on his hand and led him around the corner. She felt speechless, angry disbelief as she saw that not only was the Sold sign pulled down, it actually looked – _worked _on. Completed, in fact.

"Damn, someone didn't waste any time!" she exclaimed, pressing her face to the window. Parallel to the window was a wall painted her favorite shade of lavender, which only added insult to injury. The wall cut off, indicating a corner, and she could just barely see a short hallway. There was a big wooden desk in the corner by the entrance, with a large calendar, something that looked like an appointment book, and some decorative items, including a very feminine lamp that she hated to admit she loved and other desk-appropriate accessories.

Tommy looked up. "Looks like there's a sign, but it's covered up for now," he said, pointing. "Wonder what this is. Like a spa or salon type thing, maybe?"

"Maybe," Sammi murmured, narrowing her eyes.

Tommy reached out and tried the handle, and to Sammi's great surprise, it opened. He blinked at her. "Guess…they're open?" He nodded toward the inside. "You want to check it out?"

Sammi hesitated. On one hand, it really sucked that this place, _her _place, had already been designed into something, and that so far it had so many things she personally liked – from the paint on the wall to the little desk. She wondered what _else_ there would be inside to hurt her feelings. On the other hand – she was an extremely curious person and knew she wouldn't be able to sleep unless she looked over every inch of the place, no matter how much it hurt.

She nodded and stepped toward the door. He held it open for her and she walked through, catching a scent of jasmine and hyacinth in the air, which further agitated her. She noticed that in addition to the lavender pain on the walls, there was a swirling, cream colored border that had been painted at the very top and very bottom of each wall. She liked it, and it pissed her off. She turned the corner and saw that there was another short hallway before, with some sort of large room to her left and more wall to her right. The room had a long window and she rushed up to it to see what was inside. When she saw what it was, her jaw practically hit the floor and something like rage curled in her stomach.

"Tommy," she said in a strangled voice. "This – these fuckers – it's a _studio!_"

Tommy stepped up next to her and his eyes scanned what she was seeing. The window peeked into a large room. One wall was floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A parallel double _barre_ ran the length of two of the other walls. The floor was wooden, shiny and new. Sammi was utterly flabbergasted.

Tommy let out a low whistle. "Wow. I – I didn't see this coming. I thought this would be like a spa or like you said, a bakery or something like that. This – wow."

Sammi backed up until her back hit the wall behind her, and then she noticed another room further down the hall. She glared and stormed toward it.

"Oh, they have _two_ studios," she said mockingly. The back studio was dark, but through the window she could see herself and Tommy reflected dimly in it. It had a push-door that was currently shut. She glanced to her left, seeing a little sitting area in front of the studio room, and beyond that was another little room, probably an office. She could make out the vague shape of a desk and what might have been a bookshelf in the little room, but it was dark. She growled as she turned to face the studio again, and stepped toward the door. "I have to see this."

"Sammi, hang on," he said. "I think you need to calm down.

"I _am_ –" A sudden creaking noise from somewhere in the building met their ears, and she froze. _Shit_. She'd gotten so overwhelmed and carried away with her hurt and irritation that she'd forgotten – someone actually _owned_ this place, and even though the door was unlocked, they might not appreciate her poking around.

"Someone's here," she whispered to Tommy. "Okay, if anyone asks, we're here because – because we have a kid and – and we want her to start taking lessons –"

"Or," Tommy whispered back dramatically, mocking her stage whisper. "We're here because you own this place and you have every right to be here."

"Right," Sammi said absently, barely hearing him as her mind whirled. It was a likely story, one that could be believed; they were old enough to believably have a child of dancing age, and besides that, _why_ would the owner leave the door unlocked if they didn't –

"Wait," she said suddenly, looking up into his face as she realized what he'd said. "Say _what, _now_?_"

In response, Tommy took her by the hand and pushed the door open. Her heart began to thud in her chest and it all came together in the instant before he turned on the lights. Fragments of conversations about her dream studio that they'd had suddenly came back to her, the questions he asked echoing through her mind, and the understanding that this was _her_ place hit her as the studio was suddenly bathed in bright light and she found herself looking into the faces of both their families. Happy faces, excited faces, loving faces.

"_Surprise!"_

Sammi didn't even register that she was crying until her vision became so blurry she had to stop and rub her eyes. Then, she was being rushed by all of the people in the room. Her parents, her sisters. Bunz. Her nieces and nephews. Her brothers-in-law. Her dear Uncle Gino. Paddy. Brendan and Tess. Emily and Rosie. They swarmed around her and hugged her, squeezed her, kissed her. Congratulated her, told her they loved her. She was overcome by the force of their love, and it was all directed at her. She felt light-headed; feeling the true power of love in its purest form was transcendental.

_This is mine_, she thought, and cried harder. _This is my dream and it's real._

She hoped that she was being responsive to her loved ones – making the proper answers, hugging people back, but she could not seem to connect her mind and body. She was just too stunned.

Tommy elbowed his way through the small crowd to her side, and she saw he held a large manila envelope in his hand as well as a set of keys. With her favorite half-smile, he handed them to her.

"Your ownership paperwork, and the keys," he said simply. "Congratulations, babe."

Sammi took them from him weakly. _He did all of this_, she realized. _He did this for me._ She felt an overwhelming surge of love for him as she looked into his eyes. She wanted to thank him a million times, tell him how lucky she was to have someone like him in her life, tell him that she couldn't believe he had done something so amazingly thoughtful and _kind_ for her, tell him that he had _just_ made her life's dream come true.

"You are in so much trouble," was all she could manage.

His half-smile spread fully across his face into the grin she loved. "I'll take it," he said simply, using his thumb to brush tears off her face.

Elements was forgotten as the two families celebrated this new milestone achievement. Her mother had brought aluminum pans of spaghetti and lasagna. Bunz had baked and decorated a glorious cake, white almond sponge cake with raspberry preserves and cream cheese filling, topped with mounds of extra-light, fluffy whipped frosting, Sammi's absolute favorite. Bunz had decorated it with a pair of pink pointe shoes, tied together with their ribbons. Brendan popped the top on a couple bottles of sparkling juice, and everyone sat together on the floor of the backroom studio and just – _celebrated_.

The pinnacle of the night came when everyone walked outside and gathered in front of the studio. Tommy flipped a switch inside, then came out and pulled on a thin rope, one that Sammi had missed when they'd arrived earlier. The canvas tarp covering the sign fell to the ground, and Sammi's heart caught in her throat. Illuminated in a soft glow of lights in the dark of the night, her sign – _her sign!_ – shone softly.

Inspiration Dance Academy.

She began to cry all over again.

There was much to work out. There was advertising and building clientele. There was selecting and organizing all her dance classes. There was artwork to put on the wall. There were class fees to decide on and select. And, she thought as she set her jaw determinedly, there was a business contract to be drawn up with Tommy in regards to repaying him for his investment. No matter _what_ he said, she would pay him back every last red cent, with interest.

But for now, she was content to stand there on sidewalk, surrounded by her family – for Bunz and the Conlons were under that umbrella as much as her blood relations were – and wrap herself in the arms of a man that she loved with every fiber of her soul, a man who had loved and healed her past the horrific trauma of her past, and given her so much.

As she smiled up into his face, and pulled him down so she could relay her emotion for him with her lips, she knew that God truly lived among them in this land of monsters.

:O:O:O:

_Epilogue_

Tommy strolled into the studio, glancing at his watch. He knew that Sammi's last class on Wednesdays let out momentarily. They were both so busy these days; the dance academy was becoming more and more successful every day, every week. Sammi still worked at the bakery most days during the week, but her evenings were spent at the studio, teaching. She'd gained so many pupils – including his nieces – that she'd hired two extra teachers, and the second studio was already being used. She was currently exploring hiring on a few more teachers as well.

Tommy was equally as busy with the gym. If he wasn't giving private lessons, he was teaching his women's self-defense class, or dealing with the day to day happenings of managerial life. It was a _lot_ of work, but the level of satisfaction he got for being solely responsible for everything more than made up for it. In addition, he was training for another huge tournament – Sparta II.

He and Sammi spent as much time together as possible, however. In fact, their date tonight wasn't just a random meal together, at least not to him. He planned to ask her if she wanted to move in together. He already knew what her answer would be, since they slept over at each other's places several nights a week as it was, and she had just as many personal belongings at his apartment as she did at hers, but he felt nervous nonetheless. It was a huge step for him, but one he knew was the next natural one in the progression of their relationship. He already knew he wanted to spend every one of his days with her, and her alone.

The door to the back studio pushed open and two dozen young girls flew out in a mob of chattering, screaming, excited noise. There were parents in the front of the studio and in the sitting area waiting for them, and before long, the studio was empty and quiet again. Tommy lounged in the doorway of the little back office where Sammi was putting some props she'd used with the class away. Their first recital was just around the corner and they were in rehearsals now.

She grinned up at him as he reached out for her, and stretched up on her toes to give him a kiss. She was still in her leotard, dance pants and the long-length cardigan she'd worn for class.

"You ready?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't change since they weren't going anywhere fancy. "I'm starved. So are you," he added with an eye-roll as her stomach sounded off as if on cue.

She laughed. "I am, but I want to show you something first." She took him by the hand and led him into the studio. "I was workin' on something today."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked. "New dance?"

"Yeah. Not for the recital. Just because. I was inspired."

"What inspired you today?" he asked, amused. Sammi was infamous for finding inspiration for dances everywhere, which sometimes included the way two squirrels chased each other, or the smell in the air after it rained, or the way a tree blew in the breeze.

She walked over to the sounds system in the corner, and met his eyes in their reflection in the mirror. She smiled slightly.

"You," she said simply.

"_I_ inspired you?" he repeated.

"Yes. You're extremely inspirational." She pulled off her cardigan and looked at him again. "Just watch. And listen." She hit a button and hurried to the middle of the floor.

The music began, and so did she. At first it was just a melody on a piano, but then a hip-hop beat dropped and the style of her dance changed from graceful ballet movements to a raw, emotional lyrical dance.

_Watch, and listen_, she'd said, so as Tommy watched her with the admiration he always felt when he watched her dance, he craned his ear to the lyrics.

_I'm always pushing myself to the limit,_

_Making sure I stay ahead._

_You made me who I am, _

_From the words you said._

_Some people have to learn_

_Some people wait their turn_

_Some people but, not me,_

_I was born a champion._

_Some people have to fight,_

_Some people give their lives,_

_Some people don't believe,_

_But I was born a champion._

_I was born a champion. _

_I was born a champion._

To his complete surprise and amazement, he actually felt his throat tighten, just a little, and his eyes burn, ever so slightly. The lyrics touched a part of him he didn't really know existed within himself. He met Sammi's eyes in the mirror again as she watched him, dancing still. She didn't smile with her lips, but her eyes crinkled at the corners.

_You're an inspiration_, they said. _You're a champion._

For the first time in his life, he believed it.


End file.
